


First, Best Destiny

by Ophelia_j



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: But they'll get there in the end..., Canonical Character Death, Episode: s01e01 Where No Man Has Gone Before, Episode: s01e04 The Enemy Within (Star Trek), Episode: s01e06 The Naked Time, Episode: s01e08 Balance of Terror, Episode: s01e14 Court Martial, Episode: s01e17 Shore Leave, Episode: s01e25 This Side of Paradise, Episode: s01e26 The Devil In the Dark, Episode: s01e28 The City on the Edge of Forever, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Episode: s02e10 Mirror Mirror, Episode: s02e13 The Trouble With Tribbles, Episode: s05e06 Trials and Tribble-ations, I'm not tagging every episode, M/M, Mirror Universe, Missing Scenes, Q&A, Slow Burn, The Menagerie Parts 1&2, episode tags, slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 118,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_j/pseuds/Ophelia_j
Summary: James Tiberius Kirk - friend, brother, lover - has one great and glorious ambition: to captain a starship. It is the defining passion of his life for which he has sacrificed every relationship he holds dear.S'chn T'gai Spock left his life behind on Vulcan to join Starfleet, against the wishes of his family. Ostracised by his people, he has forged his path amongst alien strangers, unfamiliar with and resentful of his cool, logical ways.When the USS Enterprise loses her Captain, they are thrown together as Starfleet's newest command team. These very different men begin a relationship that will define their lives, shape their destinies, and reveal the lengths that each will go to for friendship. And for love.A novel-length retelling of original Star Trek canon through the lens of one of the greatest relationships ever committed to film. Using missing scenes, episode tags, and original story-telling. Ultimately a Generations fix-it. More tags to be added as we go!





	1. The Beginning of the End

_Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice_   
_And could of men distinguish, her election_   
_Hath sealed thee for herself, for thou hast been—_   
_As one in suffering all that suffers nothing—_   
_A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards_   
_Hast ta’en with equal thanks. And blessed are those_   
_Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,_   
_That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger_   
_To sound what stop she please. Give me that man_   
_That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him_   
_In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart,_   
_As I do thee. _

\- Hamlet to Horatio, Act 3, Scene 2

_Rateg City, Romulus_ _, Stardate: 48582.3 _ _(Terran Calendar: 1st June, _ _2371)_

Spock of Vulcan entered his small rooms behind one of the unremarkable thoroughfares in one of Rateg's poorer sectors, and closed the door on the biting night air. There would still be a draft. The careful selection of these rooms, with their innocuous, obscure location, disinterested locals, and bland utilitarian appearance, was entirely practical. The heavy metal door and cramped escape tunnel were hold overs from the civil wars that had ravaged Romulus in years gone by, and were now of potential usefulness for someone the authorities regarded as a dangerous Vulcan rabble rouser, should the need arise. Unfortunately, they were, by definition, old and porous, at least to the chilled Romulan air, so despite appreciating their practicality, their sole occupant was subject to a constant low-level draft, which kept the temperature well below comfortable. 

However, they were still a relief from the knife edge of the winds outside, and Spock breathed an unconscious sigh of relief as the slight metallic clang of the lock engaging sounded through the small space. Crossing the room, he sank onto the small bed. His feet hurt, his back ached, and he was tired. Only his mastery of his own physical responses was stopping him trembling with exhaustion and cold. He had spent all of this day and the two previous on a tour of another local province, meeting other underground dissidents and advocates of peace between their worlds. They had been young, and enthusiastic, and eager to hear from him. Two years, even a year ago, this would have given him encouragement, reminding him of the importance of his mission. But now, their youthful passion and exuberance had just made him tired. 

He had noticed with mild concern his own reactions to those around him over the past few months. He had always practised detachment from his cause, and the outcomes he sought. Such was the way of peace, and logic. But lately it had felt...different. He was no longer just detached. He simply - no longer cared. He reminded himself, repeatedly, of the importance of this mission, and indeed, still believed in it. It might take generations – he certainly would not live to see it – but the unification of the Romulan and Vulcan peoples, the recognition and celebration of their shared heritage, could only bring untold benefits to both. But more and more lately he was convinced that the work was no longer his to do. That the fight, already taken up by so many across Romulus, should be led by someone else. The admission should have been painful, for it meant turning his back on the final great undertaking of his life. He would be left with nothing. 

But it was time. For more than thirty years he had been alone, and had found solace in that state. But lately, honesty forced him to admit that he was no longer simply alone. He was_ lonely _. And tired. Not just physically, but with a pervasive mental depth that ate into his meditation, and haunted his sleep with distressing dreams that vanished from memory as he woke. What dreams he had, and they were rare, were usually peaceful and straightforward. Only in times of stress in his life had he been subject to bad dreams. Such seemed to be the case now, but he was at a loss to explain their source. There was no unusual stress in his life: aside from the normal tension of being constantly in hiding, all was as it had been for the three years gone by. 

And yet he still dreamed. Odd, disturbing fragments were all that remained when he woke. He sometimes seemed to be engaged in combat, or fighting an enemy. He was always warm, and younger than his current age. But it did not matter. He required sleep, and would therefore surrender to what dreams might come. 

An hour later, he sat up quickly, gasping and distressed. He regulated his pulse and breathing as the dream faded. This time, with confusion, he remembered it. He had dreamed of his first pon farr, over a century ago. Why had that memory come back to him now? He had not thought of it, of the realisation it had brought him, in more than half a century. That time of his life had been walled from his conscious awareness after it ended, 79 years earlier. He must meditate and discover the source of this unwanted unconscious remembrance before it led him down paths he did not wish to tread, and brought up memories he no longer wished to recall. There was a certain irony in the knowledge that the memories he had fought so hard to regain after the fal-tor-pan were now the ones he would gladly have lost forever. 

_ Don’t you think you’d better check with me first? _

That achingly familiar voice echoed in his head like the speaker was in the room with him. 

Spock closed his eyes tightly. He must regulate his mind’s wanderings. He did not wish to remember. That time was so long over, the speaker so long gone, that there was no longer any need to revisit those memories. No more grieving to be done. No more healing to attempt. Those times, that man, were gone beyond any desire to remember, and there was no logic in recalling them now. He breathed in, centred himself, took every tiny scrap of memory and emotion that had been trying to escape from behind that decades-old barricade, and walled them away until he was sure his mental and emotional equilibrium were entirely restored. 

When he opened his eyes, James Kirk was looking back at him. 

He was the Jim that Spock had first met on the old _Enterprise_, over a century before. In the dim and enervating darkness of Spock’s room, he glowed with youth and strength. His gold command tunic seemed to absorb and reflect the light, magnifying it and making Kirk himself it’s source. He was every inch the radiant memory that Spock had tried so hard to forget. An old, human quote drifted through Spock’s mind. _ Age cannot wither, nor custom stale – _ he was dreaming, that much was clear. And he needed to wake. He closed his eyes again, breathing quickly. 

When he opened them again, almost as if he had read the thoughts from Spock’s mind, Jim was smiling at him. Despite the voice in his head that told him to resist this insidious manifestation of his subconscious, Spock found himself mesmerised. There had been too many empty, soulless years since he had seen Jim’s smile. A fierce rebellion fought its way to control of his consciousness. He didn’t care if this was a dream. He wanted more of it. Wanted to hear this apparition speak, and laugh, the way Jim had always done so easily. Before logical thought could intervene, he reached out. He ghosted trembling fingertips above its cheek and Jim’s smile became, impossibly, even softer and more radiant. He spoke, and the voice was everything Spock remembered and more. He had heard every manifestation of this voice and none more welcome than now. 

‘Hey, handsome.’ 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, Stardate 0002.6 (Terran Calendar: 25th April 2265)_

Lieutenant Commander Spock walked from the computer station in his quarters to the small cabinet near his bed, retrieved the pin he had been seeking, and returned to his desk. Then he stood again, moving to the small mirror against the far wall, attached the pin with fingers that were admirably steady, and moved back to his desk. After a moment he stood again, and returned to the mirror, regarding the pin with concern. Perhaps it was a little too obvious. He didn’t want his new commander to think he was in the habit of making overt political statements in the line of duty. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations._ I expect to be treated with the same respect and acceptance as any other member of the crew. _ Did it imply that he thought his new Captain might not do so? There was certainly nothing in the man’s service record to suggest any kind of anti-alien bias. But Spock had been in Starfleet long enough to know that even within the ranks of those whose lives were dedicated to exploration of the galaxy, a certain pro human sentiment could still exist, however subtle, or in some cases, overt. 

The pin should stay, then. 

Unless. Did it imply any – anxiety on his part? _ Please, please accept me. Please be my Captain _ _ , as well as theirs. _

After a moment, he removed the pin, and placed it carefully back on the desk. 

On his monitor, the last message he had received from his mother still glowed in his dimly lit quarters. As he returned his eyes to the screen, a section jumped out at him. 

_I'm sure you will miss Captain Pike. He was a good man, and I know you admired him. And it’s natural to be anxious about a new commanding officer, but Spock, do give him a chance. Who knows, you may even find a friend, as well as new Captain. _

Spock had raised an eyebrow the first time he read this, almost able to hear his mother’s encouraging voice. Her concern, however much he steered the conversation towards his career and achievements, always came back to friends, happiness and sentiment eventually. She was, in that way, very human. But he had not actually expressed any anxiety around the arrival of his new Captain. It would be illogical to do so. 

Even so, her sentiment in this case was misplaced to the point of incredulity. He had been exceptionally lucky in his first commander, and was unlikely to be so lucky a second time. Whilst still at the Academy, he had been assigned to the Enterprise under Captain Pike, and the Captain had become not just a commanding officer, but a source of support, a mentor, and even in later years, Spock hoped, a friend. Which made the ending of their professional relationship even harder to bear. He took a breath, straightened in his chair and pushed the events surrounding the departure of Christopher Pike to the back of his mind. He could not dwell on what might have been. Could not afford to dwell on his own – failings in the matter. 

His mother was, in that respect at least, correct. Nothing to do with his Enterprise’s last commander was the fault or responsibility of her new Captain, and it would be highly illogical to resent the newcomer. Or to fear that the approachable, supportive relationship he had had with Pike would not be mirrored with his new Captain. Any concern in that line would be quite unVulcan, and Spock was glad he had his mental disciplines firmly in place to prevent such unwanted thoughts and emotions occurring. 

He reached across to the monitor to close his mother’s message. 

It would also be illogical to wish that, occasionally, he could see her smile, or hear her voice. He had not done so in four years. They communicated by brief messages, carefully rendered bursts of texts over subspace, between the Enterprise and Vulcan, or when his father’s schedule dictated, Earth. Such messages were small, and easily transmitted with any other communication burst the Enterprise would be sending that day. If his mother was on Earth, the message would be received within a day or two, and a reply would take a similar time. If she was on Vulcan, the timescale was longer, as the message would be relayed via Earth, and relied on the frequency of communication between Earth and Vulcan. To speak to her directly would require booking time with the Enterprise’s communications team, then communication between the team and Ambassador Sarek’s home on Vulcan, or office on Earth. 

Which could never happen. 

His father had decreed that all communication between Spock and his parents cease on the day that Spock had left home for Starfleet Academy, and he had not wavered from that view. His mother, as a dutiful Vulcan bondmate, had to all outward appearances agreed with her spouse. In reality, there had been a message from his mother waiting for him when he arrived at the Academy, and he had never been out of written contact with her for more than a few months at a time, unless the Enterprise was out of communication range entirely. By mutual, unspoken consent, they did not speak of Sarek. Spock had no idea if his father was even aware of his mother’s ongoing contact with their son. But in case he did not know, Spock made no attempt to contact his mother in any way that might draw the attention of his father. He had no wish to sever the last familial contact remaining to him by any rash action of his own. 

As his mother’s message vanished from the screen, the previous document he had been reading and set aside for his mother’s communique, took its place. For the seventh time, Spock ran his eyes over the official service record for his new Captain. For the seventh time, he was impressed by the repeated commendations, and concerned by the element of impetuosity that ran, obvious but officially unremarked, through the record. The document showed a man highly competent, driven, intelligent, and possessed of a remarkable instinct for leadership and command. The youngest Captain in the history of the fleet. It was, by any measure, an impressive record. He was also, to Spock’s eyes, young, impulsive, given to following his instincts ahead of logic, forthright, and ambitious. The opposite of Christopher Pike in almost every way. And therefore, not someone to whom Spock should look for the kind of relationship he had shared with Pike. Which was, of course, fine. Indeed, as things should be. Spock no longer required any kind of mentor, or father figure, or even friend. 

Almost reluctantly Spock’s eyes settled on the picture at the top of the record. The subject looked slightly impatient, as if he had better things to be doing than posing for an official photograph. Clear, intelligent, and perceptive brown eyes stared out of a face that was barely holding the mandatory neutral expression in place. Even the picture seemed possessed of a remarkable energy. Next to the picture, the name and rank of the subject in large, unmissable letters: 

James Tiberius Kirk. Captain. 

Spock reached across, snapped off the screen, and stood. Any speculation was illogical and irrelevant. He would, in all likelihood, have very little interaction with the new Captain outside of their necessary professional roles. Which was entirely logical, and correct, and exactly, he told himself, as he would prefer. 

* 

As alpha shift began, Spock was on his way to the transporter room when a voice hailed him. 

‘Spock! Wait up.’ As Spock paused, the Enterprise’s helmsman, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, fell into step beside him. 

‘Coming to meet the new Captain?’ Mitchell grinned at him as they walked along the corridor. 

Mitchell seemed more cheerful than usual, and Spock did not have to speculate as to the cause. The new Captain, as Mitchell was more than happy to remind anyone, was a friend of long standing. Kirk and Mitchell had attended the Academy together, and after an unsettling period when the identity of the ship’s new Captain had been in doubt, and some - in Mitchell’s eyes – worrying names had been bandied about, no-one had been more ostensibly delighted than Gary when she was given to his old friend. 

Mitchell's field promotion to first officer had been confirmed immediately, and the new Captain had let it be known that he was impressed with the performance of the Enterprise’s crew under Pike, and those crewman who wished to stay were invited to do so, an offer that Spock had felt was highly sensible, to maintain crew performance and cohesion. The acceptance rate for this offer was high amongst the younger crewmen, but the prospect of serving under the youngest Captain in the fleet had clearly raised a few doubts amongst those with longer service records. Their CMO was retiring within a few months, as was their Head of Communications. Their Chief Engineer had already left. Lieutenant Commander Scott was under consideration for a field promotion to that role, a development that Spock himself had encouraged to Commander Mitchell. 

Engineer Scott was one of the more eccentric humans that Spock had encountered, even aside from the fact that his accent rendered him occasionally unintelligible to Vulcan ears. It had taken a few months of meetings before Spock was properly attuned to what he understood was an Earth regional brogue. Once that initial hurdle had been cleared, however, it had become apparent that Engineer Scott was one of the most knowledgeable and fiercely practical crewmen on the ship. 

Spock thought it the highest compliment he could pay the Engineer that he considered him almost Vulcan in his work ethic and dedication. He also, unlike most humans, treated Spock exactly like everyone else: to wit, less important than his precious engines. His obsession with the engines of the Enterprise surpassed anyone else in his department, and Spock was quietly convinced that any new Captain worth their rank should recognise his dedication and endorse the promotion. 

His own recommendations for vacancies in his department had been forwarded to Captain Kirk along with those of the other department heads, and he had been mildly surprised to receive a terse return communique less than a day later approving them all. He had not noted this as exceptional, but at the next meeting of the Enterprise’s department heads it had become clear that his was the only department where all of his proposed replacements had been endorsed by Kirk. Mild grumbling from his fellow department heads had taken up at least a third of the meeting. They had bemoaned the trouble of having to go ‘back to the drawing board’ in their search for staff, or objected to having their new Captain’s choices foisted upon them. 

Spock replied to Mitchell as they walked. ‘My presence was requested as Science Officer.’ 

Mitchell patted him on the back and Spock suppressed the mild internal tension that gathered whenever he did so. He was aware that the human regarded it as a gesture of friendship, and he did not wish to offend by reminding Mitchell that as a Vulcan and a touch telepath, he did not generally encourage casual physical contact. Their relationship had not always been congenial, and Spock deemed the occasional unwelcome pat on the back or shoulder a small price to pay for keeping it on a more overtly friendly footing. It seemed far too difficult to explain to Mitchell that the similar liberties he had allowed Captain Pike had been earned over years of slowly developing mutual trust. 

Mitchell was talking. ‘Don’t you worry, Mister Spock, Jim’s a science nerd too, he won’t give you any trouble. You just keep doing what you’re doing, and he’ll leave well enough alone.’ This was accompanied by a friendly smile that Mitchell clearly intended to be reassuring. Spock wondered briefly why everyone seemed to assume he was concerned about the arrival of their new Captain. 

The doors to the transporter room opened at their approach and Spock and Mitchell joined their CMO and acting Heads of Security and Communications in front of the pad. A yeoman waited patiently to pipe the new Captain aboard. 

Lieutenant Commander Scott was already at the transporter controls. He looked up at Mitchell’s entrance. 

‘Just waitin’ on the signal from the starbase, Commander.’ 

‘Thank you, Mr Scott.’ 

They fell into a natural parade rest as the seconds ticked by. Next to Mitchell, Doctor Mark Piper pulled irritably at the tunic of his dress uniform. ‘I’m sure this came back from stores a size smaller.’ 

Mitchell regarded him with amusement. ‘Nothing to do with the series of moving on parties you’ve been attending?’ 

Piper side-eyed him loftily. ‘Of course not. I’m a doctor. I know how to regulate my drinking and eating to maximise health and wellbeing at all times.’ 

Mitchell grinned. ‘And I know how to wrestle a Denebian slime devil. Doesn’t mean I’m going to do it though.’ 

Piper gave a long-suffering sigh, and muttered, ‘Cheeky young pup.’ 

Spock experienced a measure of relief that their new Captain was not already present. He would never accustom himself to the human need to fill silences with what could only be described as unnecessary and occasionally unprofessional small talk. 

Another minute ticked by. 

‘Come on Jim,’ Mitchell muttered, ‘We haven’t got all day.’ 

Spock frowned to himself. He hoped that Commander Mitchell would not refer to the Captain in that unprofessional manner with any frequency. James Kirk was the Captain, and should be referred to as such at all times. To do otherwise whilst under his command, even with the history that Mitchell enjoyed with his new Captain, was, to Spock’s mind, disrespectful both to the Captain’s rank and his person. 

Scott said, ‘Signal received, Commander.’ 

Mitchell straightened, and the tension in the room, which had died down, ratcheted up again. 

‘Beam him up, Mr Scott.’ 

The hum of the transporter began, and the familiar glow filled the transporter chamber. A figure began to coalesce within the beam, and as it solidified the golden glow softened but seemed not to disappear. Spock blinked rapidly, suddenly anxious that his eyes had malfunctioned in some way. The man before him still appeared to be at least partially formed of gold light, woven through his command tunic and bands of rank. Even his hair seemed to glow, giving him a halo of gold. 

An old memory surfaced unexpectedly in Spock’s mind. Himself as a boy, in his father’s study, looking through old books on the superstitions and beliefs of pre reform Vulcan. One of his childish favourites had been the pictures of the old Vulcan gods, particularly the god of the suns. It was that image that came to mind now as he looked up at his new Captain: an immortal and extraordinary warrior, haloed in gold. 

Spock wondered at the illogically fanciful turn his mind had taken as the yeoman piped the Captain aboard and Mitchell took a half step forward. ‘Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Captain Kirk.’ 

James Kirk stepped out of the artificial light of the transporter pad, and the aura around him faded slightly as Spock’s eyes adjusted. His hair was slightly browner than the transporter light had made it appear, although his tunic still had the pristine appearance of something that had been worn new that morning, and there was a slight tension in his movement. For the first time, Spock wondered if the youngest Captain in the fleet had also experienced some anxiety this morning about his new command. The thought was strangely comforting. 

Mitchell continued, ‘Under Starfleet Regulation 103, in my authority as Acting Captain, and by order of the Admiralty, I hereby surrender command of the Enterprise to James T. Kirk, substantive Captain, effective immediately.’ 

‘Thank you, Commander Mitchell. It’s a pleasure to be aboard.’ Kirk’s voice was firm. He had, Spock noted immediately, a surprising air of gravitas for someone whose record spoke of at least some level of youthful impetuosity. 

Mitchell’s formal air relaxed a little, and he smiled. ‘Good to have you, Captain.’ 

Kirk smiled back, and Spock had a brief glimpse of the personal charisma that had propelled James Kirk from Iowa farm boy to starship Captain by the age of thirty-two. 

Kirk looked across the line of people in front of him, and stepped across to the end of line furthest from Spock. He extended his hand to the Enterprise’s bulky security Chief and the stockier man shook it enthusiastically. 

‘Commander Darren, good to see you again.’ 

The security man smiled. ‘Likewise, sir, it’s been a while since the Farragut.’ 

Kirk said, ‘You’ll be pleased to hear I’ve kept up with my training. You won’t find me so easy to pin these days.’ 

‘Happy to test that theory for you any time, Captain.’ Darren rumbled. 

Kirk laughed, an easy, natural sound, and the tension in the room, already lessened, began to relax into normal Starfleet formality. ‘I shall hold you to that, Commander.’ 

He left the security chief grinning wolfishly and turned to the thin faced, taller man next to him. 

‘Lieutenant Commander Gralen, good to meet you. I was disappointed to learn you’ll be leaving us soon.’ 

The Enterprise’s Communications Chief said coolly, ‘I was offered a promotion to the Constellation and it seemed like an excellent opportunity.’ 

Kirk nodded. ‘It will be. Captain Marshall is a good officer.’ 

‘And_ highly _experienced.’ 

Spock blinked. Gralen’s tone had been respectful, but after fourteen years amongst humans, not all of whom embraced IDIC as enthusiastically as their colleagues, he was learning to pick up on subtext. He saw Mitchell frown, and open his mouth, but Kirk said, in the same diplomatic tone, ‘Indeed. In fact, due to retire soon, I would think. Still, he’ll be a good man to learn from, and I wish you well, Lieutenant.’ 

Gralen looked put out and said, somewhat reluctantly to Spock’s ears, ‘Thank you, sir.’ 

Kirk’s eyes had already slipped past him to the transporter console. ‘Commander Scott!’ The Scotsman looked somewhat discomfited at being hailed so enthusiastically by his new Captain, and he stepped awkwardly to one side of the transporter console. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Capt -’ 

Kirk waved the greeting away, as he stepped forward to grasp the older man’s hand. ‘The pleasure’s mine, Lieutenant Commander. I’ve read all of your reports on the Enterprise’s engines. Excellent work, Mister Scott, excellent.’ 

Under Spock’s fascinated gaze, the Enterprise’s most dedicated engineer flushed to the roots of his hair. Kirk continued, ‘I’d like to have a chat with you sometime about some improvements you’ve proposed. I was particularly interested in your ideas about the warp drive. I thought - ‘ 

Mitchell said, and Spock could hear the suppressed amusement in his voice. _ '_Captain, we were hoping to get the tour at least _started_ before beta shift begins.’ 

Kirk stopped with a visible effort, then added, ‘Well, another time, Mr Scott, but in the meantime, I hope you’ll be my acting Chief Engineer until we have a chance to properly discuss the engine room?’ 

If possible, Scott went even redder, and stammered. ‘wha- er – _ Aye._ Aye, sir, it’d be my honour. I’ll take care of the bairns for you, you see if I don’t. I won’t let you down.’ 

Kirk blinked, then said, in a genuinely warm tone, ‘I know you won’t, Mr Scott.’ 

Next to Scotty, Dr Piper cleared his throat. Kirk stepped across with a smile, and took the proffered hand. 

‘It's good to finally meet you, Doctor. Your reputation precedes you. Commander Mitchell tells me you run a tight sickbay.’ 

Piper said dryly, ‘Commander Mitchell would say anything to get out of his next physical.’ 

Kirk tossed an amused side eye to his second in command. ‘Good to see you’ve got the measure of him. I was sorry to hear you’ll be retiring in a few months.’ 

Piper nodded. ‘Thank you, sir, but it’s time. I don’t think I’ve got another five years in me. That’s a younger man’s game.’ 

Kirk said sincerely, ‘Well, the Enterprise’s loss is Starfleet medical’s gain.’ 

As this exchange continued Spock noticed an odd anxiety begin to settle in his stomach. He was aware of a desire to make a good impression. He was also aware that Kirk had shaken the hand of every man present. He wondered if his new Captain was aware that Vulcans did not, traditionally, do so. He should be, of course, but it was entirely possible that he had had little exposure to Vulcan culture during his career so far. 

Kirk’s conversation with Piper had drawn to a close and Spock was suddenly, intensely aware of being the sole focus of Kirk's attention as the Captain stopped in front of him. 

Kirk said, and his tone was a little subdued, ‘You must be Lieutenant Commander Spock.’ 

From Kirk’s side, Mitchell muttered, ‘What gave him away?’ 

Kirk ignored him, and as Spock was about to speak, he noticed his Captain's right hand was flexing oddly. He just had time to wonder if the Captain had some as yet unreported nervous tic, before Kirk had steadied his hand and raised it in the traditional Vulcan salute. 

Kirk said, with deliberate care, ‘Dif-tor heh smusma, Commander.’ 

The pronunciation was slightly hesitant, and the accent appalling, but Spock had not had his native language spoken to him in over a decade. The familiar, cherished syllables fell into his awareness like water after a drought. Next to Kirk, Mitchell frowned in surprise. Spock stared in frozen shock at the source of the sound as Kirk’s hopeful expression began to slide away. 

‘Commander? Did I say that wrong?’ 

Spock’s voice caught up with his heart, which appeared to be trying to obstruct his throat. He threw his hand up into the ta'al. ‘Peace and long life, Captain Kirk.’ 

If Kirk had noticed Spock’s awkward reaction, he gave no sign. Instead, he said, still in that slightly subdued tone, ‘I was intrigued with your last paper on warp fields and spatial distortion.’ 

Spock blinked. It had been a personal project outside of his duties and he had not been aware the paper was widely circulated. Aloud he said, ‘Indeed, Captain? It was merely a - proposal of my initial hypothesis.’ 

Kirk nodded, and some enthusiasm began to seep back into his tone. ‘Yes, but the implications would be significant. I’d love a chance to chat it through with you sometime.’ 

Mitchell cleared his throat and Kirk’s eyes met Spock’s in an expression of conspiratorial amusement. Spock had seen such expressions before, but only in front of him, not directed at him, and he was at a momentary loss for an appropriate response. In the face of his science officer’s unchanging expression, Kirk’s own fell slightly before he recovered and turned to Mitchell. 

‘Yes. Well. Thank you, Science Officer. Alright Commander Mitchell, let’s get this show on the road. Where are we starting?’ 

As Kirk and Mitchell passed into the corridor, already deep in conversation, the atmosphere in the transporter room relaxed. 

Piper said thoughtfully, ‘Well, I wish him luck. Not easy, taking over someone else’s command. Chris Pike left some big shoes to fill.’ 

Gralen added coolly, as they moved towards the door, ‘Especially given Kirk's age and inexperience.’ 

Spock heard himself say, ‘Captain Kirk’s record would indicate a high degree of aptitude and competence for the task at hand, age and experience notwithstanding.’ 

Gralen said smoothly as he swept out, ‘Well, I guess you’ll find out in the next five years, won’t you, Mister Spock?’ 

As Piper and Gralen left, Commander Scott, apparently oblivious to the entire conversation and muttering to himself about impulse drive and engine neutrality, followed them out of the door. 

Spock watched him go, aware of an illogical sense of failure. 

He could not avoid the idea that Kirk had deliberately suppressed his natural ebullience when speaking to him. Presumably in order not to offend Spock's Vulcan sensibilities with unnecessary human emotionality. It was the kind of consideration that Spock would have been grateful for from Gary Mitchell. But from James Kirk it was oddly....disappointing. The man’s energy was part of him, and his attempt to suppress it speak to Spock had been somewhat disconcerting. And Spock's own responses had been clearly _ lacking _ \- 

A voice at his side said cheerfully, ‘Well, he likes you.’ 

Spock turned to face the Enterprise’s security chief, whose presence had temporarily slipped his mind. He said, ‘I beg your pardon, Commander?’ 

Darren nodded at the door. ‘Kirk. You’ve obviously impressed him.’ 

Spock stared at the shorter man. He was accustomed to the human tendency to make illogical leaps to irrational conclusions, but given that the last five minutes had been some of the least impressive of his entire tenure on the Enterprise, he was at an utter loss to explain this one. 

On his expression, Darren smiled. ‘Capt’n Kirk expects people to adapt to his style of command, not the other way ‘round. Made a proper effort with you, though. Obviously keen to have you on side. Understandably.’ His Teutonic accent was more pronounced with extended speech. 

Spock said, uncertainly, ‘I am sure Captain Kirk is keen to develop positive working relationships with all his crew.’ 

Darren said easily, ‘Oh, no doubt. An’ he will, too. Whether they like him or not. Probably won’t bother to learn any of their languages though.’ He placed a firm pat on Spock's shoulder as he passed. ‘Nope, your new Captain’s a fan, Mister Spock. You can relax.’ 

As the door swished open, Spock ruthlessly suppressed the frisson of hope the security chief’s words had engendered, as well as his own disappointment in his lack of adequate response to his Captain. 

Ultimately, Kirk’s opinion was irrelevant. Spock would continue to perform his duties to the best of his ability, and that would either be acceptable to his new Captain, or it would not. 

The thought suddenly occurred that he had not heard where Commander Mitchell had proposed to start the new Captain’s tour of the ship. The notion that it might be the science labs sent him hurrying from the room. 

* 

As it turned out, it was almost past the end of alpha shift before Kirk and Mitchell turned into the Enterprise’s main lab. Spock straightened from his console as they entered. 

Mitchell was saying, ‘Right, I’ll leave you here and handover to beta shift on the bridge.’ 

To Spock, he said, ‘You’re lucky we made it before Gamma shift. I thought I was _ never _ going to get him away from Scotty. I can’t believe there’s actually someone who can out-geek James Kirk when it comes to warp drives.’ 

Spock said coolly, ‘Mr Scott is to be commended for his dedication and thorough commitment to the engine room.’ 

Mitchell snorted, ‘I’ll say. You’ll never convince me he doesn’t sleep there sometimes. He’s nearly as dedicated as you, Mister Spock.’ 

Kirk, who had been looking between them, a carefully neutral expression on his face, said, ‘Don’t let me keep you, Mitchell. I’ll finish up with Commander Spock here then come and find you.’ 

Mitchell nodded. ‘Great. I’ll see you in an hour.’ He turned and left the room. Kirk smiled round at Spock's mostly young and silent staff, eliciting some hopeful smiles in return, before looking across at his science officer. He clapped his hands together and said, ‘Right, Mister Spock, what have you got for me?’ 

An hour later, and Spock was entirely certain that, even had he been thus inclined, he would never be able to lead his department in a mutiny against James Kirk. The Captain had talked individually to all of his staff; about their work, their personal projects, even their off-duty interests. He made insightful and instructive comments on their work, and Spock was forced to rapidly mentally revise some of the explainers he had prepared in case the new Captain had not had an aptitude for science. 

Kirk praised and encouraged, patted backs and smiled. Spock didn’t think his lab had ever had such an air of effortless bonhomie. Beta shift arrived and Alpha didn’t leave. Almost Spock’s entire staff were crammed into his lab, wreathed in smiles as Kirk relayed a humorous anecdote from his secondment to astrophysics as a second Lieutenant. 

On cue, the whole room broke into delighted laughter. Kirk smiled round at them all. ‘Right, alpha shift, off you go. Beta, I can’t keep you from your work any longer, or I’m sure Mister Spock will have my hide.’ 

Eyes, which Spock was sure had entirely forgotten his presence, slipped to their head of department, and smiles froze guiltily on faces as the department disbursed as instructed. 

Kirk walked over to the corner of the lab where Spock was standing. He leaned against the bench next to his science officer and said thoughtfully, looking back across the lab, ‘You’ve got a good team there, Mister Spock. I was impressed with your suggestions for promotions and replacements. I think they’ll be even better once the new cohort have settled in.’ 

‘They will, Captain,’ Spock said with certainty. ‘Efficiency amongst those newly assigned to the science laboratories increases by at least seven percent after a week. Long term gains vary, but exposure to the discipline and practices in this department is proven to enhance overall productivity and performance in all crew who are assigned.’ 

Kirk blinked at him for a moment and then said, ‘I’ve no doubt of it, Mister Spock.’ 

Spock glanced at him, wondering for a moment if his Captain was laughing at him, but there was no sign of it in Kirk’s mild gaze. 

They stood for a moment in companionable silence, watching as Spock’s staff went about their work. Spock was beginning to wonder if he should indulge the human propensity for small talk, when Kirk said quietly, ‘I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier, did I? With my greeting?’ 

Spock said, matching Kirk’s tone, ‘It would be illogical for me to experience discomfort in that circumstance, Captain.’ 

Kirk gave a hum of scepticism. ‘Whilst I’m sure that’s true, Mister Spock, it wasn’t quite an answer to my question.’ He shot Spock a half smile. 

Spock blinked. It was an answer that had satisfied in similar circumstances in the past. Kirk was watching him with interest. Spock said carefully, ‘I was – taken by surprise. It is rare that my – different background is considered in such circumstances.’ 

Kirk nodded, as if the answer was not unexpected. They stood in silence for a moment, before Kirk squinted at him self-consciously. ‘I think my Vulcan accent might be terrible.’ 

For an almost infinitesimal amount of time, Spock contemplated the human tendency to obfuscate difficult truths and decided, as he had always done before, that such a course of action was both unnecessary and unhelpful. 

‘It is, sir.’ 

Kirk’s face froze and Spock experienced a very unVulcan moment of anxiety that he had managed to offend his Captain on his first day, until Kirk’s face relaxed into an amused grin. ‘Well, maybe you can help me with that in future. In the meantime, if we run into any other Vulcans on this trip, I’ll let you do the talking.’ 

Spock said, ‘That would be wise, Captain.’ The feeling that his response was somehow inadequate came back to him. He found himself wanting to communicate some sense of gratitude for the effort Kirk had gone to, however illogical. He said hesitantly, ‘However, it was – pleasing – to hear my native language. I was - not ungrateful.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise, then said, ‘However terribly that language was spoken?’ 

Spock blinked in consternation. ‘I- no, sir, that wasn’t what I intended -' 

Kirk face broke into a grin. ‘Relax Mister Spock, I’m teasing you. It’s a bad habit, but you seem to bring it out of me. Don’t worry. I shall try to refrain.’ 

Spock felt as if the conversational ground beneath his feet was uncertain. The feeling, taken in conjunction with Kirk’s smile, was not_ entirely _unpleasant. 

He said carefully, ‘You – need not do so on my account, Captain.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. ‘Really? Well, be careful what you wish for, Mr Spock.’ 

Spock said, ‘I believe the relevant human aphorism states ‘what is sauce for the goose -' 

He was interrupted by Kirk’s delighted bark of laughter. Around the lab, heads turned to them. ‘Oh, I _see_. In that case I suppose _I _should be careful what I wish for.’ 

Spock was momentarily discombobulated by the notion that James Kirk would have any wishes revolving round his science officer. Before he could gather himself, Kirk had turned towards him and was saying, ‘I never got to ask about_ your _projects, Mister Spock. I’d be fascinated to know what you’re working on, and we need to talk about that warp drive spatial distortion paper. I’ve had some theories in that line myself, and I mentioned it to Chief Engineer Scott. We thought - ‘ 

Spock watched his Captain as he continued to relay his conversation with the Engineer. There was genuine enthusiasm and sincerity in every word. Even Captain Pike, for all his encouragement, had never taken such an obvious interest in Spock’s work, pronouncing it to be, with some amusement, mostly over his head. 

So it was with some reluctance that he said, ‘Captain, I believe you are already late for your rendezvous with Commander Mitchell.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘Oh damn. Gary. I forgot.’ He pushed away from the bench. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time then. Thank you for the tour.’ 

Spock inclined his head. ‘No thanks are necessary for the performance of my duties, Captain.’ 

Kirk blinked. ‘No. Quite right, Mister Spock. Carry on.’ He made an odd, abortive movement with his right hand, as if he had been about to place a hand on Spock’s back, then thought better of it. Watching Kirk leave, Spock was illogically torn between approval of his Captain’s consideration, and an odd sense of disappointment. 

* 

Kirk sat at his desk, listening to Gary, opposite him in the visitor’s chair, talk through duty rotas and shift patterns at the desk in the Captain’s quarters. Being already familiar with the Enterprise’s crew and Mitchell’s habitual assignments of same, he was only half listening. As the talk moved onto bridge rotas, conversations of the day came back to him. After a while he said, thoughtfully, ‘I think you might have sold him short, you know?’ 

Gary broke off his monologue. ‘Who?’ 

Kirk nodded to the padd in front of his friend. ‘Spock. He’s not as humourless as you led me to believe. And I don’t think me being overtly emotional in his presence is going to bother him. He seems pretty okay with it.’ 

Gary stared. ‘Are we talking about the same guy? Tall, pointy ears? Stone faced?’ 

Kirk shot him a chastising look. ‘He’s not though, is he? He’s pretty expressive. Does that eyebrow thing when you surprise him. That deliberate not-smile thing when you make him laugh.’ 

Gary stared. ‘You made him laugh? We’re definitely talking about different people.’ 

Kirk said defensively, ‘Well obviously he didn’t _laugh _laugh, you know. But he did look - amused.’ 

‘Jim, I know you’re keen to get everyone on side, but I think you might be reading a bit too much into our Mister Spock.’ 

Kirk frowned, and flicked a hand at the bridge rota. ‘He’s only on the bridge in beta shift, isn’t he?’ 

‘Yeah. He’s more use in the lab during alpha. And honestly, he can be hard work, I’m telling you.’ 

‘I’d like him to work alpha for a few weeks. See how it goes.’ 

‘On the bridge?’ 

‘No, Gary, sweeping the shuttlebay. _Yes_, on the bridge.’ 

Mitchell laughed. ‘And_ there _he is. Hi, Jim. You’ve been Captain Formality all day. Gets old.’ 

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. ‘Come on, we’ve talked about this. Things can’t be like they were. I’m the Captain now. I can’t play favourites; however close we’ve been.’ 

It was Mitchell’s turn to frown. ‘We’ve_ been_? So you get promotion and suddenly we're not close?’ 

Kirk stared at him. ‘You know damn well that’s not what I meant. The Captain has to – ‘ 

Gary said bluntly. ‘I don’t actually. I don’t know that’s not what you meant.’ 

‘Gary, for God’s sake,’ Kirk snapped, ‘it’s my first _day_. First full bridge shift tomorrow. And you want to do this_ now_?’ He stood. ‘No. Deal with it. And I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

Gary stared at him, then rose and picked up his padd. ‘As you wish._ Captain_.’ 

Kirk watched coldly as his first officer walked from the room. As the door swished shut he sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair. ‘Brilliant, James T, just brilliant.’ 

* 

Spock lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in mild consternation. It was unlike him to have difficulty sleeping. Usually his mind was sufficiently quieted after his evening meditation that sleep came with no effort. Tonight, however, he was restless, and snatches of the day's conversations came back to him at random. 

_ Live long and prosper, _spoken in a strange, but welcome voice. 

_ I’m teasing you, Mr Spock. _

_ Maybe I should be careful what I wish for. _

Spock sat up, and sighed. James Kirk was proving to be - confusing, in ways that he simply had not anticipated. But there was very little point in mentally rehashing the day more than once. His time should be used far more constructively. 

By 2am ship’s time, he was realigning a plasma conduit in a Jeffries tube adjacent to the lab, and had managed to put the Enterprise's confounding new Captain entirely from his mind. In the relative silence and uninterrupted stillness of ship’s night, work was proceeding quickly. The small sounds of his work were magnified and echoed by the quiet of the Jeffries tube. 

After a while, Spock’s acute hearing alerted him to a muffled thumping, some distance away, the sound travelling through the closed hatched to his left. He regarded the hatch curiously, before returning to his work. As time passed the thumping noise grew closer, calling itself more urgently to his attention. It was followed by a muttered curse, and a scrabbling at the hatch nearest to Spock. Moments later the hatch flew open, and tousled, somewhat sweat dampened brown curls appeared, followed by a newly familiar face, smudged with dirt, who stopped in surprise at the sight of Spock, calmly crosslegged in front of the access panel. 

Spock said, ‘Good evening, Captain Kirk.’ 

Kirk blinked at him, then said, with what dignity he could muster, ‘Good evening, Mister Spock.’ 

After a moment, he hauled himself through the hatch and sat against the bulkhead, the space not allowing for anything more than crouch at best, still breathing hard. ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’ 

‘I might ask you the same question, sir.’ 

Kirk grinned. ‘Well, you might, but I asked first.’ 

Spock said, ‘These plasma conduits have been in need of realignment for some time. It is impossible to do whilst the lab is in use but given the hour, and the fact that there is currently no work in the lab that cannot be temporarily suspended, this seemed like the ideal opportunity.’ 

‘At 0200 hours. Obviously.’ Kirk blew out a breath. ‘Your dedication is duly noted, Mister Spock.’ 

There was pause in which Spock merely stared at his commanding officer. When Kirk finally met his gaze, he raised an enquiring eyebrow. 

Kirk said reluctantly, ‘Okay. I am – if you will excuse the vulgarity – pissing in every corner.’ 

A second eyebrow flew up to join the first and Kirk laughed, a warm sound in the confined space. 

He continued, ‘Not literally, I hasten to add. I had a tutor at the academy on the command track. It was an expression of his.’ He dropped his voice and assumed a rough brogue that Spock didn’t recognise, ‘She’s your ship, lad. You got’ta know every inch of her. Piss in every corner.’ 

Kirk ran a hand across his face. ‘Rough as anything, and rarely polite company, but there was nothing he didn’t know about handling a starship. And he was right, of course. As Captain, you have to know your ship better than anyone. So here I am.’ 

Some of his hair had fallen across his forehead and he pushed it back. ‘Although I’d be happy not to get up close and personal with Jeffries tube seven too often. That’s a damn tight squeeze. I thought these things were a standard size.’ 

Spock recovered himself. ‘I requested to be allowed to reduce the size of the Jeffries tube to allow for extra equipment in the lab. I was given permission to do so by Captain Pike.’ 

Kirk blew out a breath. ‘Well, you’re welcome to your extra space, Mister Spock, but if anything goes wrong in tube seven, I’m sending you in to fix it.’ 

'That is – fair, Captain.’ 

Spock noticed that Kirk was not in uniform, having chosen casual shirt and trousers for his foray through the bowels of the Enterprise. Following his gaze, Kirk said, slightly self-consciously, ‘Trying to get through at least the first day without wrecking a uniform. Apparently, my reputation with stores precedes me.’ 

Leaning against the bulkhead as his breathing evened out, he nodded towards the open access panel in front of Spock. ‘Need a hand with that?’ 

‘Thank you, Captain, but my work is almost complete.’ 

Kirk nodded. ‘Good.’ 

Spock wondered if he would continue his tour through the Enterprise, but Kirk had leaned his head back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. As he showed no inclination to move on, Spock returned to his task in silence. 

A few minutes went by, then Kirk said, ‘Our new CMO starts in a few weeks. I think you’ll like him.’ 

Spock said mildly, ‘My feelings on the matter are irrelevant, Captain.’ 

Kirk made a noise of disagreement, but said, ‘If you say so, Mr Spock. He’s got experience with Vulcans, you’ll be pleased to know. There’s not much he doesn’t have experience of, actually. Leonard McCoy. Finest CMO in the fleet. Don’t let the lil'ole country doctor act fool you.’ 

Spock said, ‘I am unfamiliar with the name.’ 

Kirk said, eyes still closed, ‘He’s been planetside for a while. Doesn’t actually like starship life all that much. Hates transporters, or he'd be here already. Took a hell of a lot to persuade him to come with us.’ 

Spock said, ‘If you will forgive me, Captain, he does not sound like the ideal candidate for the Chief Medical Officer of a frontline starship.’ 

Kirk grinned. ‘Do me a favour, Mister Spock. Remind me, and we'll have this conversation again in a few months. I think you’ve got to experience McCoy for yourself to understand.’ 

‘I shall do so, Captain.’ As a few more minutes went by, Spock made the final adjustments to the conduit. Flow had improved by the expected 5.7% percent. He began to reseal the access panel. 

Kirk said, idly, ‘Do you play chess at all, Mister Spock?’ 

Spock sealed the panel and turned to face his Captain, who hadn’t moved from his position against the bulkhead. ‘Given your in-depth knowledge of not only the Enterprise, but her crew, I believe you will be familiar with my official record which lists my interests outside of my duties.’ 

Kirk cracked an eye in his direction. ‘Alright. You caught me. I knew the answer to that one.’ 

He paused, then said, ‘I find it’s usually better to let people tell me that kind of thing. No-one – except you apparently- is totally comfortable with the notion that I might have their service record memorized. And it’s good to –‘ he gestured small circles with his hands, which were resting on his knees ‘– let people talk. Tell you about themselves. Shows an interest. People are always interesting, when you dig a little.’ 

He added thoughtfully, ‘And you never know what you might need to know to lead them effectively unless you let them tell you.’ 

Spock said with interest, ‘Surely all Starfleet officers should simply follow orders regardless of their personal idiosyncrasies?’ 

Kirk shot him a half smile. ‘Indeed. I'd damn well not have anyone on my ship who wouldn’t. But –‘ he sighed, then continued more quietly, eyes on the panel opposite, ‘ - if I’m going to look someone in the eye and ask them to die for this ship, I want them to know that I_ know _them. That I’ll remember them.’ He looked across at Spock, ‘Yes, of course they’d follow orders anyway, but in that moment - it helps. Not much. But it does. We’re all prepared to lay down our lives for the service, but the Captain needs to give the service a face. One that mourns. Not then, but - after. In the end, I don’t think anyone really dies for a flag. You die for your people.’ 

Around them, the hum of the Enterprise’s engines, unheard background noise during ship’s day, sounded almost loud in the ensuing silence. 

After a while Spock said thoughtfully, ‘I have observed in my human crewmates that an attachment to something, be it a person, or an object, makes it harder for them to - part with that thing. As Captain, surely it would be easier to practice detachment?' 

Kirk gave a quiet huff of laughter. ‘Can’t. I know it works for some, but I’m - not wired that way. Might it be easier? Maybe.’ He leaned his head back against the bulkhead for a moment, then tilted it towards Spock with a small smile. ‘But I’m the Captain. It’s not meant to be easy.’ 

Spock said, before his conscious mind could intervene, ‘If there is any way I can assist you, Captain, either within the performance of my duties or without, know that I am ready to so.’ 

Kirk lifted his head and stared at him. Then he swallowed and said quietly, ‘I appreciate that, Mister Spock. Very much.’ 

Spock nodded. ‘Captain.’ 

Kirk said, ‘Jim.’ 

Spock looked at him curiously. 

‘When we're off duty. You could - call me Jim. If you like.’ 

Spock said slowly, ‘I do not believe that would be appropriate.’ 

Kirk took a breath. ‘Very well. Still, the offer stands. And now I think I’ve yet again taken up too much of your time. You are far too easy to talk to, Mister Spock. But we both need to get some sleep before shift tomorrow. First full day on the bridge.’ He shot Spock a smile of barely concealed, almost boyish excitement. Spock clamped down on a wholly unexpected desire to smile back. 

Kirk was already moving towards the ladder. As he began to descend, he looked back. ‘Don’t work too hard. Get some sleep before your shift.’ His head disappeared, then reappeared almost as quickly. ‘Oh, yes. So: you and me. Chess sometime?’ 

Spock inclined his head. 

Kirk smiled with genuine enthusiasm. ‘I look forward to it. Goodnight, Mister Spock.’ 

‘Goodnight, Captain.’ As Kirk’s head disappeared through the hatch, he added, ‘Sleep well,’ and then, quietly, almost testing the sound of it, ‘Jim.’ 

* 


	2. Where No Man Has Gone Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set before and after the episode of the same name. I’m hoping that everyone who reads this will have seen it, or at least be familiar with the events therein. Any clarification needed, drop a question in the comments. xx

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 00532.2 (Terran Calendar: 2nd May 2265)_

Captain James T. Kirk strode through the corridors of his ship, acknowledging his crew as he passed, who almost all greeted him with a smile, and a murmured ‘Captain.’ He could feel the deck of the Enterprise beneath his feet, suffused with that deep, almost unnoticeable vibration of a ship in flight. At warp, the stabilisation and inertia systems were so effective that without access to a window to view the distorted stars, a passenger might think she wasn’t moving at all. Not her Captain. He knew, without needing to be told, that his orders of the previous evening were still being carried out, that the Enterprise was making her stately way towards the galactic barrier at speeds undreamed of by his own people centuries before.

He already loved his ship. In the week since he’d come on board, he’d familiarised himself with the intimate reality of her, placing bulkheads, conduits, Jeffries tubes, and programmes against the schematics and theory in his head, and finding her even better, even more inspiring, than he’d dared to hope. She was well built, and solid enough to defend and protect her crew, but quick and light enough to carry them out of danger. She was, in her way, old fashioned for a starship, nearly twenty years old now, and the newer ships coming out of drydocks were already sleeker, more streamlined in design. But in the eyes of her Captain, she was the most beautiful of them all. He knew, without it yet being tested, that she would never let him down. That if he did right by her, she would always be there for him, always bring him, and his crew, home.

And he would do right by her. Had done so, already. He knew, better than most, the sacrifices required to be a starship captain, and he didn’t just want to be_ a_ captain. He wanted to be the best. His lady deserved no less. And she would not find him wanting. There had been times gone by – lonely, sleepless nights, after another painful break up, missing yet another family occasion - when he had lain awake and wondered if it would ever be worth it. Whether he’d ever get a ship, and if he did, if she would reward all of the hard work and sacrifice that had brought him this far.

Well he had, and she did.

But there was no diminution of effort now, no chance for him to sit back and enjoy his achievement. His lady, and her crew, took every waking minute of his time, even haunted his dreams. He’d known it would be like this, especially at the start, but the reality was still daunting. He was trying to integrate his newly appointed crew with the old hands of Pike’s Enterprise, and not all of them had even arrived. It would be nearly six months before the Enterprise was up to her full complement of crew, and those who were already on board were still not as tight and efficient a team as their Captain would like. As the turbolift neared the bridge, he began planning a new round of drills and performance evaluations.

As the doors opened, and he walked towards the centre seat, he resolutely ignored the thrill that danced down his spine and settled in his gut. My seat. My ship. Mine. Pausing to lay a hand on the backrest, he began a slow circuit of the bridge, talking to gamma shift, who were about to leave, and greeting the arriving alpha shift. Only when everyone was in place, and turned to their tasks, and all eyes were away from the Captain, did he allow himself the luxury of walking to the centre chair and sitting down with a smile that came from his soul.

*

That evening he was in his quarters, going over the reports from the latest round of security drills when the door chime sounded.

Gary entered at his call, and stood a little awkwardly in the centre of the room, clutching what was quite clearly a bottle of something alcoholic.

Kirk looked up from his desk, cleared his throat. ‘Just a guess, but – this isn’t an official visit?’

Gary glanced down at the bottle in his hand, and back to Kirk with a rueful half grin that Jim recognised. It was the expression Gary wore when he felt himself to be in the wrong, but was soldiering on anyway. ‘What gave me away?’

Kirk gestured to the table across the room. ‘Take a seat. I’ll just be a minute.’ He finished his paragraph, made a few notes, and saved the report. He had another three reports to work through, but it could wait. Since he’d snapped at Gary on his first day, relations had been a little strained, and it was past time to make amends. He dropped into the chair across from his friend, who was already pouring the drinks, and raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s this in aid of?’

Gary smiled. There was a slightly hopeful edge to it that immediately made Kirk feel a little guilty that he hadn’t made the effort to square things with his friend before now. ‘This is a celebration.’

Kirk smiled in return, then narrowed his eyes. ‘Okay. It’s not your birthday. It’s not my birthday. I haven’t promoted you again.’ He paused. ‘No. You’re gonna have to tell me.’

‘You, my friend,’ Gary pointed at him, ‘Have all the sentiment of an Andorian eel. This is the tenth anniversary of me knocking you down the steps at the Academy and nearly putting you out of action for a week.’

Kirk grinned. ‘You’re kidding. We met ten years ago? Christ, when did we get old?’

Gary assumed a look of mock affront. ‘Hey, speak for yourself, Captain Ancient. I –’ he gestured expansively with his glass, ‘- am in my prime. And probably immortal. But then we can’t all be demi-gods.’

Kirk picked up his glass and pointed with it. ‘Do not start calling me Romulus on this ship. That was bad enough at the Academy. Took going into space to live that down.’

Gary laughed. ‘Wasn’t my fault you weren’t very emperor-like. Demi-god suited Tiberius Kirk far better.’ He sipped his drink. ‘Hey, who knows, we might run into some real Romulans on this cruise.’

Kirk frowned. ‘Well let’s hope my reputation doesn’t precede me.’ He eyed the contents of his own glass dubiously. Over its rim he caught Gary’s eye, and there was a definite challenge in his brown eyes.

Mitchell said, ‘Jim, it’s fine if you don’t want to drink, I know, you’ve got responsibilities, we both ha-’

He broke off with look of surprise that swiftly turned to a grin as Kirk raised the glass and downed it in one swift movement.

And regretted it instantly. His eyes began to water and he coughed spasmodically. Around gasping breaths, he said, ‘What – the hell – was that?’

Gary jumped up to pat him on the back and said, around badly suppressed laughter, ‘Scotty’s finest. You were supposed to sip it, Jim, you lunatic. Christ.’

Kirk looked up at him through watering eyes, croaked, ‘Thanks for the warning.’ Gary lost his battle against laughter and had to lean on the table to keep himself upright. In spite of his burning throat, Kirk found himself joining in. As their amusement began to subside, he looked at his friend fondly.

Gary caught his gaze, then looked away. After a moment he swallowed, looked back and said, ‘I’ve missed this.’

Jim said, the sudden realisation surprising himself, ‘Me too.’ They stared at each other for a moment in the quiet. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about -’

Gary waved a hand, ‘Don’t worry about it. New command. First day. Massive stress. I get it. I could have been less of an ass about things, as it goes.’

‘Well,’ Kirk attempted a serious expression, ‘I didn’t want to be the one to say -’

Gary punched his arm lightly. ‘Shut up. Sir.’

Kirk grinned up at him. The mood between them had shifted to be more like their long years of friendship and he felt something in his gut relax. Gary reached for the bottle again, and regarded Kirk with a mock serious expression. ‘Now. Can I trust you to drink this sensibly if I pour you another one?’

Kirk looked askance at the amber liquid. ‘I’m not sure I should have another one - that tasted neat. What the hell does Scotty use it for - cleaning the nacelles?’

Gary laughed. ‘I won’t tell him you said that, he’s pretty proud of this batch.’

‘_Batch_? Are you about to tell me there’s a _still_ on my ship?’ He held up a hand. ‘On second thoughts, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. I might need plausible deniability.’

Gary smiled. ‘You didn’t hear it from me.’ He poured Kirk another, smaller glass, and pushed it across the surface of the table. ‘Sip it.’

Kirk was about to reply when the door chime sounded again. Gary looked over at him and he shrugged, murmured ‘Not expecting anyone,’ then called out, ‘Come in.’

Gary pushed away from the table as the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Commander Spock, still in uniform, and standing slightly at attention. Kirk stood up quickly and crossed to the door. ‘Spock! This is a pleasant surprise. Come in.’

The Vulcan entered as ordered, but stood a little uncomfortably, barely at ease. ‘My apologies, Captain, I was not aware you had company.’

Before Kirk could speak, Gary said, ‘Don’t mind me, Spock, I’m just here to lead Jim astray.’

Kirk said, ‘He’s right, ignore him. What can I do for you?’

Spock’s eyes had taken in the bottle and the glasses. He said, ‘It is – unimportant, Captain. I merely wished to inquire as to when would be an appropriate time to engage in the recreational game of chess we have discussed previously.’

Gary gave a bark of laughter. ‘Jim, you’re going to take on Spock at 3D chess? Well, definitely not tonight, you’ll need to be sober. And, you know, better at chess. Spock owns that board in the rec room.’

Kirk shot him a look. ‘Just because you were hopeless at it, doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own.’ He turned back to Spock, ‘Don’t worry, Mister Spock, I’m sure I can give you a game. For now, why don’t you join us? I've been meaning to talk to you about the duty rosters for the science department.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gary roll his eyes. Spock said uncomfortably, ‘Vulcans do not - consume alcohol.’

Kirk said reassuringly, ‘Of course you don’t, but don’t worry, we’d finished anyway, I’m sure we can rustle you up something non-alcoholic. Take a seat.’ He waved at Gary to fetch the other chair from the desk, who reluctantly walked over, seized the chair, and placed it by the table. After a moment's hesitation, Spock sat. Kirk grabbed the relevant report from his desk and brought it over to the table.

As he sat, he said, ‘I noticed you’ve got your teams on a slightly different shift rotation than the other departments.’

Spock said, a little stiffly, ‘Yes.’

There was a pause.

Gary took a sip of his drink and said, amused, ‘I think the Captain would like to know why, Spock.’

Kirk nodded. ‘I’m not asking you to change it, I’m just curious. The other departments use the shift patterns recommended by Starfleet. I was wondering why you don’t?’

Spock folded his hands in his lap and said carefully, 'The shift pattern established by Starfleet command is tested on, and optimised for use by, human personnel. My department contains the highest percentage of non-human crew on the ship. Vulcans require less sleep than humans. Andorians frequently require more. The pattern of the shifts in the science department ensures that all of the species on the duty roster receive the necessary amount of rest and duty time to ensure optimum efficiency of all.’ Spock paused, then added, ‘I produced a report on this for Captain Pike when initially requesting the change. I would be happy to forward it to you, Captain.’

Kirk said, ‘I’d appreciate that, Mister Spock, thank you.’ He added interestedly, ‘I didn’t realise that about the shift patterns. Being optimised for humans, I mean.’

Gary said, frowning, ‘Well it makes sense, there are more humans in Starfleet than any other race.’

‘Yes,’ Kirk said patiently, ‘but Starfleet doesn’t just serve Earth, it serves the Federation. All of it. There are more races joining Starfleet every year. If ‘fleet command aren’t making sure that the rules and regs reflect the needs of their crews then we’re going to start losing good people.’

‘Maybe, but you can’t have seven or eight different shift patterns on a starship.’ Gary waved his glass. ‘Just wouldn’t work.’

'I’m not suggesting that,’ Kirk said, ‘but we could do what Mister Spock’s done. Optimise one shift pattern for everyone.’

‘So no-one gets a shift pattern that works for them.’ Gary looked skeptical.

‘Or everyone does.’ Kirk pointed at his science officer. ‘Spock’s department is the most efficient on the ship. I need to figure out what he’s doing right and get everyone else doing the same.’

Gary laughed. ‘I’m not sure that’s down to shift patterns. That’s having a Vulcan in charge. Everyone’s too intimidated to slack off.’

If Kirk hadn’t happened to be looking directly at Spock as Gary spoke, he’d have missed it. The infinitesimal pinching of the muscles around his eyes and mouth. Spock’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, but James Kirk would have bet his year’s allocation of leave that the comment had stung. He thought back to his visit to the science labs on his first day. Gary’s comment about intimidation, even in jest, was clearly wide of the mark. His impression had been that whilst Spock’s command style hadn’t engendered a profound affection in his team, his intelligence and efficiency had earned him their undying respect and admiration. It was clear that they worked hard, at least in part, to meet his high standards and impress their taciturn department head. To Kirk’s mind, you could hardly ask for better results in a crew. He wondered, briefly, if Spock was aware of the obvious respect and deference felt by his team. They’d hardly express it to a Vulcan. He wondered if Spock ever doubted their loyalty. Ever wanted it. Prior to this moment, he would have said no. Now, he was curious.

Aloud he said, ‘Gary, that’s hardly fair - ‘

He was interrupted by a whistle from the comm. ‘Bridge to Captain Kirk.’

He jumped up, walked back to his desk and hit the switch. ‘Kirk here.’

The voice of Lieutenant Alden filled his quarters. ‘Sir, I’ve got a call from Captain Rodriguez on the Reliant for you.’

Kirk blinked in surprise. ‘Bill Rodriguez? Patch it through, Lieutenant.’

Spock stood. Kirk waved a hand as he walked in front of the viewer and sat. ‘Don’t worry, Spock, stay where you are, I think it’ll just be a hello.’ The small viewscreen lit up, and Kirk lowered his voice to address it directly. ‘Bill! This is a pleasant surprise.’

There was a slightly muffed reply from the screen, and Kirk laughed.

As the conversation on the other side of the room continued, Spock became aware that Mitchell was watching him curiously. He looked at the man before him, and wondered again at the friendships that humans prized so highly. Not for the first time, he questioned their efficacy and appeal. Mitchell and Kirk appeared to have little in common other than their attendance at the Academy, and he doubted the wisdom of a Captain being such close friends with a member of his crew. Then set the line of thought aside for further consideration when he was more closely acquainted with James Kirk. Perhaps a reason would reveal itself.

Mitchell said, ‘Don’t kick his ass too hard.’

Spock said, ‘I beg your pardon, Commander?’

‘Jim. He doesn’t like to lose. Beat him too hard in that chess game and you’ll be scrubbing the nacelles the day after.’

Spock raised an eyebrow, said levelly, ‘I doubt that Captain Kirk would be so unprofessional.’

Gary, who had taken another swig of his drink, barked a laugh, ‘Yeah, maybe not. But he does hate to lose. Hands down the most competitive guy at the Academy. Had to be top at everything. One of the youngest tutors in its history.’

‘Captain Kirk’s record is indeed impressive. And I understood his tenure at the Academy to be exemplary.’

Gary grinned. ‘On the record, yeah. But off the record,’ he glanced across the room to where Kirk was absorbed in his conversation, and lowered his voice. ‘I could tell you some stories.’

Spock said quickly, ‘I do not believe that would be -’

Gary set his now empty glass down on the table with a snap. ‘Aw, come on Spock, live a little.’ He raised the bottle to pour another drink and blinked across at the Vulcan, ‘Can I tempt you?’

Spock strongly doubted the wisdom of Mitchell consuming any more alcohol. Whilst he wasn’t actually completely inebriated, he was becoming so with alarming speed. He wondered how long Gary had been drinking this evening already, debated momentarily whether it was his place to comment, and decided it was not. Aloud he said, ‘Vulcans do not -’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’ Gary nodded and poured his own drink. ‘Well, here’s the thing. One thing you’ll learn about Jim, he’s a goddamn honeypot. Can’t help it, seriously. People just throw themselves at him. I mean, you can see why, right? Could have had his way with half of the academy. But he didn’t.’ Mitchell made a pointing gesture towards a non-existent goal in front of him. ‘Too focused on the prize. But I tell you what, it’s a goddamn waste. He might’ve been a stack of books with legs, but he’s as loyal as they come and passionate as hell. Anyone lucky enough to get a date came back for seconds, that was for sure. And when he falls, he falls hard. I nearly got him married off once, after a dozen dates.’ Mitchell grinned at the memory. ‘But -’ he sighed, ‘the 'fleet, always the 'fleet. He’s gonna throw himself away on a goddamn starship if we don’t stop him. You and me, Mister Spock, we’ve got five years to find him someone. Stop him dying alone.’

Mitchell’s eyes settled on his friend across the room, where Kirk was listening intently and nodding along to something Rodriguez was saying. A suggestion began to niggle at Spock’s mind and he dismissed it as unworthy speculation before it could even fully form.

Gary was saying, ‘See, I think he respects your opinion already. You’re going the right way about making a good impression, anyway. Jim always did have a thing for brains.’ He leaned forward, lowered his voice even more. ‘And between you and me, he had a bit of thing for the aliens amongst us too.’

On Spock’s barely concealed perturbation, Gary burst out laughing. Across the room, Kirk glanced back at them with a bemused smile. Gary said, ‘God, don’t worry Mister Spock, you couldn’t be less his type if you tried.’

Spock said archly, ‘Commander, I believe this conversation to be highly - ‘

He was interrupted by Kirk’s voice from across the room. ‘Who isn’t who’s type?’ He rose and flicked off the viewer. ‘Gary, I hope you’re not trying to set Spock up with someone. I don’t want any member of my crew distracted with your hare-brained dating ideas.’ He looked to Spock as he walked over to them. ‘Honestly, a couple of successes pairing people off and suddenly he’s a one-man dating service.’

Mitchell muttered, ‘Nearly got you, too.’

Kirk said, ‘What?’

Mitchell said, ‘I was just about to share with Mister Spock some stories from his Captain’s Academy days.’

Kirk pulled a mock horrified face. ‘As if yours wouldn’t be worse. And fun as that would no doubt be for me, there’s no way it’s happening with this much alcohol inside you.’ He touched Gary’s shoulder lightly. ‘Get to bed and sleep it off, Mister.’

As Gary opened his mouth to protest, Kirk said mildly, ‘Consider that an order.’

Mitchell’s mouth snapped shut and he sighed, stood, and pushed away from the table.

As he reached the door, Kirk called, ‘And tell Scotty to water it down next time.’

Mitchell tossed off an amused salute. ‘Aye Sir.’

As the doors closed, Kirk sat and turned back to Spock with a rueful smile. ‘Apologies for your illogical human crewmates, Mister Spock. He means well.’

On Spock’s expression, he said, suddenly concerned, ‘Gary didn’t say anything he shouldn’t have, did he?’

Spock said slowly, ‘He intimated that I should allow you to win our chess game, lest I be reassigned to some menial task.’

Kirk laughed, and there was some relief in it. ‘Oh god, don’t listen to Gary. Bring your best game, Mister Spock, that’s an order. The better you are, the better I’ll get playing you.’ He smiled at his science officer. ‘I’m always looking to improve.’

'That is reassuring to hear, Captain.’

Kirk nodded, then said, ‘Listen, Spock, about what we were saying before. I was thinking about it whilst I was talking to Bill. Are there any other aspects of ship life that are too human optimised, to your mind? Any that bother you, for example?’

Spock tilted his head to one side as he regarded his commanding officer. ‘None that I cannot easily cope with, Captain.’

Kirk tilted his head and gave him a half smile. ‘You’re very good at that.’

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow.

Kirk said, ‘Telling me what you think I want to hear. I think we should establish, right now, that what I always want to hear is your honest opinion. Even if you think I won’t like it. Agreed?’

After a moment, Spock said, ‘We have two Andorian crew members. The ambient temperature of the ship is at least three degrees warmer than their comfortable range of temperatures.’

‘Optimised for humans again?’

‘Yes, Captain. For the record, I believe that a change in ship’s temperature of half a degree would make very little difference to my human crew-mates, but would reduce the need for lengthy recuperation in their Andorian colleagues.’ He added somewhat self-consciously. ‘I have not conducted a study, however.’

Kirk was looking at him curiously. ‘So – that's a guess?’

Spock said stiffly, ‘It is a likely extrapolation based on empirical research.’

Kirk made a humming sound. ‘You seem like someone who likes to back up their extrapolations with the appropriate research.’

‘I – proposed a study to Captain Pike. We had only one Andorian crew member at the time and he felt it would not be a constructive use of my time.’ He added quickly, ‘We were traversing a sector of substantial scientific interest. His decision as to the best allocation of my time was the correct one.’

Kirk thought, _And aren’t you loyal, Mister Spock._

Spock added, ‘He also specifically forbade me from running the study in my own time.’

On Kirk’s face, he said, ‘Captain Pike was aware of my habit to conduct research off duty. I informed him that Vulcans do not require as much rest as humans, nevertheless, he became quite protective of his officer’s rest time.’

Kirk said, ‘Chris is a good man. And a damn good Fleet Captain.’ He took a breath. ‘Run your study, Mister Spock. Let’s see if we can’t optimise the Enterprise for all her crew.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

Kirk added with a smile. ‘Keep it to duty hours if you can. Oh, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer my other question.’

Spock’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but his demeanour became less formal and more ‘kid with hand in cookie jar'.

Kirk thought absently, _am I getting better at reading you or are you opening up to me?_

Aloud he said, ‘I’ve been to Vulcan. Only briefly, but long enough to know that the ambient temperature would make the Sahara feel a bit nippy.’

Spock said, and Kirk was sure there was some amusement in his tone, although his face remained neutral, ‘That is an egregious exaggeration, Captain.’

Kirk smiled. ‘Well maybe a little. My point is, don’t you find the ship cold?’

He watched with fascination as a number of thoughts played themselves out across Spock’s face. The movements of facial muscles were almost infinitesimal, but Kirk was sure, given time, he’d be able to read his science officer very well indeed. He watched Spock briefly consider denying it, then settle for an uncomfortable, ‘It is true that the ambient temperature of the ship is lower than it would be on a Vulcan vessel, however I am accustomed to it, and I can assure you, Captain, that it does not interfere with my efficiency in any way.’

Kirk said gently, ‘I’m quite sure it doesn’t, Mister Spock. All the same, I’d like you to expand your study to include all of the non-human personnel on the Enterprise, yourself included, and any other areas you feel relevant. Bring me a revised proposal by the end of the week.’

Spock blinked in surprise. ‘Yes, Captain.’

Kirk said, ‘In the meantime, I assume that any personal areas of the ship are being adjusted to suit the personnel concerned?’

Spock stared at him. ‘I’m sorry, Captain?’

Kirk said, ‘Well, your quarters, Mister Spock. For example. I’m assuming you keep them at a higher temperature than the rest of the ship?’

Spock said, and his tone was only mildly censorious, ‘Starfleet guidelines on the subject of temperature on starships are quite clear. Also, heating my quarters to a temperature above that of my crewmates would be a drain on the Enterprise's energy resource for personal reasons.’

Kirk looked at him in amused surprise. ‘Of a _negligible_ amount, Spock. And guidelines are just that. You don’t have to keep to them.’

Spock said stiffly, ‘Nevertheless, Captain.’

Kirk pressed his lips together for a moment, then took a breath. ‘Mister Spock, would you humor me in something?’

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Kirk said, ‘When you get back to your quarters this evening, raise the temperature.’

‘Is that an order, Captain?’

Kirk tipped his head. ‘Consider it a suggestion. To satisfy your Captain’s curiosity. You could use the qualitative data as part of your study.’

Spock didn’t speak for a moment, then said. ‘Very well. I shall- try it.’

Kirk grinned. ‘Attaboy, Mister Spock. Spirit of scientific adventure, and all that.’

Spock regarded him with the air of a man not entirely sure whether he was being teased. Kirk smiled at him across the table, then stood. ‘I’m keeping you from your evening again.’ He thought he wasn’t imagining Spock’s look of relief at the change of subject.

Spock stood in his turn. ‘Not at all, Captain.’

Kirk turned on his way to the door of his quarters. ‘Oh, you came to ask about chess.’

Spock stopped beside him. ‘Yes, Captain.’

‘I’m a bit tied up tomorrow, how about the day after? We could have a match after alpha shift, if you like. We’ll be beginning our trek out to the galactic barrier.’

‘Indeed Captain, that would be appropriate.’

‘Great.’ Kirk grinned. ‘First starship out that far, Mister Spock. History in the making. Can't wait to see what’s out there.’

Spock looked at his Captain with curiosity. He was practically radiant with suppressed excitement and anticipation. How very human. He said, ‘I hope it will be appropriately scientifically edifying, Captain.’

He wasn’t sure what he’d said to amuse, but Kirk laughed. ‘Oh indeed, Mister Spock.’

*

The next five and a half months passed in something of a blur, even for someone with Vulcan powers of recall. There were endless drills and exercises as the new crewmembers who had arrived with Captain Kirk, and those who were old hands from Captain Pike’s days, began to establish their new working relationships.

Spock, who had expected some minor disruption to his professional life, but very little in the way of alteration to his quiet, uneventful personal routine, was somewhat taken aback to discover that his company was, unexpectedly, in demand.

James Kirk, far from making a polite effort to get to know his science officer, then leaving him be, as Spock had expected, seemed determined to source Spock’s opinion on matters of ship’s life that were, not always, strictly within Spock’s remit to comment on. Sometimes this would lead to a conversation or debate, and sometimes Kirk would simply listen, as if filing something away for later consideration, smile, and say, ‘Thank you, Mister Spock.’

Spock found himself entirely unable to anticipate what his Captain’s reaction would be on any given topic. It was – somewhat frustrating, and yet mildly intriguing.

They had managed to carve out time for a regular chess game, and to Spock’s surprise, Kirk had proved himself to be an extremely able player. Kirk’s approach to chess was similar to his command and conversational styles – a solid grounding of theory and technique, that should have been predictable, interspersed with leaps of instinct and intuition that would leave Spock’s strategy floundering in their wake. It should have been irritating, but as the months slid by, Spock found himself oddly exhilarated by the experience. Kirk’s ability to surprise him was an endless source of fascination. He would often spend time after a shift attempting to examine the logic by which Kirk had arrived at some unexpected, but successful course of action. This endeavor rarely met with success, and he vowed to observe his Captain more closely, and make a mental note of decisions upon which he would like elucidation, should the opportunity for detailed discussion arise.

Kirk had embraced his cautious suggestions for alterations to the Enterprise’s shift schedules, ambient temperatures, and other minor, but appropriate changes throughout the ship, tailored to all of the species that comprised the Enterprise’s crew, not simply the human element. Spock had been careful to present his report to the Captain without the presence of Gary Mitchell, who seemed to view the whole project as unnecessary indulgence on Kirk’s part.

Spock’s own relationship with Mitchell had been, in some ways, improved by the Captain's presence. Mitchell seemed more tolerant of him, now Kirk’s good opinion of his science officer had been established. However, more than once, Spock had sensed a reluctance on Mitchell’s part to include him in any off-duty activities. It was always Kirk who would call expansively, ‘Mister Spock, why don’t you join us?’ when Gary proposed an evening in the rec room, or a drink in Kirk’s quarters. Spock was careful not to accept too often. Much as he was beginning to enjoy the company of his Captain, it was clear that Mitchell resented him taking up too much of Kirk’s time.

On one occasion, Kirk had been obviously tired when their weekly chess game had been due, so Spock had offered to reschedule. This had been rejected, but Spock, still concerned for his Captain’s energy levels, had suggested that perhaps a less public – their rec room matches often attracted an audience these days – game would lend itself to a more relaxing atmosphere. Kirk had agreed with surprising readiness, so Spock had brought his own board to the Captain’s quarters.

Kirk had relaxed almost immediately, his entire demeanor becoming less formal as soon as they were in private. Spock found himself intrigued by these glimpses of the man behind his commanding officer. Kirk had become more relaxed in general as the weeks went by, crew performance improved, and Captain and crew adjusted to each other, but he was different again in the privacy of his quarters. Although Spock was never less than acutely aware of the chain of command between them, Kirk seemed to drop the armor of rank and smile more, laugh more easily, when off duty. And the fact that he did so in Spock’s company was – illogically pleasing.

Spock was trying to devise a cogent rationale to move all of their games to Kirk’s quarters, when the door chime sounded. Mitchell entered almost before his ‘Come in’, and looked in surprise at their game.

‘Well, this is cosy. Private chess today?’

Kirk said mildly. 'Sick of the rec room, problem?’

‘Only that you were meant to be meeting me for cards, remember?’ Gary held up a deck in a vaguely accusatory manner.

Kirk closed his eyes momentarily. ‘Damn, Gary, I’m sorry, it’s been a hell of a long shift.’ He gestured to his desk chair. ‘Take a seat, we won’t be long.’ His eyes slid to his science officer. ‘I’ll have Mister Spock here checkmated in seven moves.’ A small smile crept to his face as he looked a challenge at Spock.

Spock looked up from the board and arched an eyebrow at his commanding officer. ‘That is unlikely, Captain.’

Kirk grinned. ‘We'll see then, won’t we Mister Spock.’ He reached across to move his queen to the third level and Spock frowned.

As the game continued, Gary, who had dragged the desk chair over, and sat down, was watching with barely concealed impatience. ‘I thought you were some kind of master at this, Spock. How is the illogical human managing to kick your ass?’

Spock said, a little stiffly, ‘The Captain is an adept player.’

Kirk shot Mitchell an arch ‘See?’ look, which he ignored.

Spock continued, ‘His method of play relies heavily on sudden illogical changes of strategy, and unpredictable acts of highly risky play.’

Kirk said with amusement, ‘Mate in three.’

Spock stared in disapproval at the board.

Gary said, ‘So what you’re saying is, he flies by the seat of his pants? Colour me shocked.’

Spock said absently as he moved a piece, ‘Actually, the Captain's play is rooted in sound and often highly advanced technique, however he improvises around this knowledge in a most impressive manner.’

Kirk, who had reached to move his own piece, looked up in surprise at the compliment, and his expression softened.

Gary said roughly, ‘Flatter all you like Mister Spock, he’ll still kick your ass.’

Kirk frowned at him. Spock reached for the board, and said mildly, ‘My assessment was accurate, not flattering, Mister Mitchell. Check, Captain.’

Kirk's attention flew back to the board, ‘A valiant attempt Mister Spock, but – checkmate.’

Spock inclined his head. ‘The game is yours, Captain.’

‘Well played, Mister Spock.’

Gary sighed. ‘Well thank god for that.’

Kirk looked across at him. ‘Listen Gary, - would you mind if we played tomorrow? I’m beat.’

Mitchell sighed heavily, then said, ‘Okay. Sure.’

‘Thanks Gary.’ Kirk reached across and gave his friend’s arm a squeeze before standing. ‘Well, goodnight, gentlemen.’

Spock and Mitchell also stood, moving to the door. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’ ‘Night, Jim.’

As the door to Kirk’s quarters closed behind them, and they began to walk, Mitchell said, a little testily, ‘I know Vulcans don’t need as much downtime as the rest of us, Mister Spock, but you should consider when the Captain needs to rest, and not monopolize his off duty time.’

As Spock stared at him in disbelief, he continued, ‘I realize you've got fond of Jim, and you don’t have many friends to choose from, but try to remember the responsibilities he has.’ He stopped outside his quarters. ‘I’ll see you on the bridge tomorrow. G'night.’

He entered his quarters and the doors closed before Spock could respond.

He walked slowly to his own quarters. He was illogically stung by Mitchell’s remarks. It was true that by human standards, he did not have friends, but as a Vulcan, such a thing did not concern him. He did not believe he had come to consider James Kirk as such. However, he habitually accepted the Captain’s invitations to spend time together outside of their duties, even when there was no need for him to do so. And he had begun to regard time with his Captain with a kind of – pleasurable anticipation. Did this indicate a level of fondness, as Mitchell had asserted? Such a thing would be most unVulcan. The thought was – uncomfortable.

Perhaps Mitchell was correct. Perhaps he was unknowingly taking advantage of his Captain’s generosity with his time. He should therefore spend less time in his company, for both their sakes.

Decision made, it was a resolution he stuck to, even in the face of what almost looked like disappointment from Kirk when his suggestions of chess games were, occasionally, politely rebuffed.

Until the Enterprise reached the galactic barrier.

*

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 1382.1 (Terran calendar: 26th October 2265)_

James Kirk stood in the darkness of the observation deck, watching the deeper darkness outside. He usually came here to see the stars, but now, in the still quiet of ship’s night, all he could see was the never-ending black.

Gary was dead.

He’d had twenty-four hours to process the information, and it hadn’t really penetrated his mind at all. He expected, at any moment, the door to open, and Gary would walk in, smile, and ask him what the hell all that nonsense had been about. They’d have a drink and make it up. That was how it had always been. So part of his mind leapt at every swish of a door opening – on the bridge, in sickbay, in his quarters. Waiting for Gary Mitchell.

Who would never come. Never come, because his best friend, James Kirk, had killed him. Killed him and buried him beneath a rockfall on the furthest planet from Earth that humankind had ever reached. Buried him, and left him to rot. Kirk closed his eyes against the sting of that thought. Even in death, he’d betrayed his friend. Listened to the argument that they had no idea whether the power of the entity that had possessed Mitchell and Dehner could transfer after death. So he’d left them there, with a buoy to warn incoming starships of the trap the Enterprise and her personnel had fallen into.

At least he’d been able to leave commendations on their files. It was, in the circumstances, the very least he could do, and he felt the inadequacy of it like a pain he couldn’t ease.

He looked at the chrono on the wall. Two am, ship’s time. He had tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gary’s face. Saw that chilling silver fade to the usual warm brown, saw the sad, desperate face of his friend. Heard his voice. _Jim. Help me._ Heard him lost, and terrified, and- Kirk pressed a hand to the viewing window, and leaned his head to rest it against the cool surface, willing the memories out of his conscious mind.

Behind him, he heard the door to the observation deck open and close.

_Gary_.

Footsteps echoed through the space. At this hour, even with the Enterprise’s crew working different shifts, the observation deck was empty, as he had hoped it would be. The steps came to a halt a little way behind his right shoulder. After a moment, he said tiredly, ‘No plasma conduits to fix tonight, Mister Spock?’

His science officer’s voice broke the ensuing silence.

‘Good evening, Captain.’

‘It’s the middle of the night, Spock.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘You should be resting.’

‘As should you, Captain.’

Kirk closed his eyes. He needed sleep. Even the use of his rank felt like a physical blow. ‘Jim .’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘Jim. Just – for now, Spock. Please.’

Silence fell for a while.

Eventually, Spock said, hesitantly, ‘I have served on the Enterprise for thirteen years. In that time, I have observed that - when a crewmember is lost, their human comrades - lean more heavily on their colleagues in the aftermath of the event.’

Kirk didn’t respond. Spock continued, still with that tentative tone, ‘I am aware that Commander Mitchell was your closest friend on the ship, and that the rest of the crew remain primarily those selected by Captain Pike, until our final new intake arrive in a weeks' time.’

Kirk heard his first officer swallow, then continue, ‘I know that our acquaintance is of relatively short duration. However, I wished to communicate that, should you wish to speak of these events to – a friend, rather than a colleague, I would not be - averse to fulfilling that role.’

Kirk closed his eyes. He didn’t want to speak of them. Didn't want to speak at all. But even in his grief he remained conscious of the considerable effort his science officer was making. Kirk didn’t turn, but his voice was heavy when he said, ‘Thank you. I –’ he broke off. ‘Thank you.’

They stood for a long time, staring at the endless black. Kirk had expected that Spock, having said what he came to say, would leave. But he didn’t. And the longer he stood there, the less his presence felt intrusive, and the more it felt – comforting.

After a while, he said quietly, ‘I keep thinking I – should have done something differently. Should’ve stopped it. I keep going over it, but I can’t see what.’

Spock said, matching his tone, ‘I have identified a potential flaw in your actions.’

Kirk’s said sharply, ‘Just the one?’

‘After Mitchell knocked us out on Delta Vega, you instructed Doctor Piper not to wake me until you had gone after him. You should have allowed me to accompany you. The risk was far greater alone.’

Kirk turned to him, said bitterly, ‘I killed my best friend. And your objection is that I should have _let you help_?’

'Jim.' Spock’s voice was soft. ‘This is not a burden you should have had to carry alone.’

Kirk drew in a sharp breath against the sudden obstruction in his throat and turned back to the darkness. He knew without looking that Spock remained at his side.

After a while, he said tiredly, ‘You were right. What you said in the briefing room. I should have - acted earlier. I nearly left it too late. Without Doctor Dehner - ‘ he broke off, but didn’t turn away from the window. Or the endless black. ‘That’s why I didn’t want you there. I wanted you to get my ship away. Safe. I didn’t want anyone else to pay for my mistakes.’

Spock said, still in that soft tone. ‘Jim, five months ago you asked me to always be honest with you. I shall avail myself of that freedom now. I would ask that, in future, whatever the circumstances may be, even if you believe the prospects to be bleak, and your actions to be flawed, that you allow me the chance to remain at your side.’

Kirk took a long, slow breath. The world before him was still dark, and distorted now through gathering tears that he refused to let fall. But, faintly, he could see the stars again.

*

One week later, Kirk ran a hand through his hair, and stared again at the padds arrayed in front of him. The final complement of his crew was due tomorrow, and he was confident in his decisions, and those of his department heads. Of course, there was no certainty until everyone was on board and working together, but he felt like he’d given his ship the best chance of excellence.

The initial shakedown would be difficult – they always were – but he was determined to minimize the time his newly complete crew took on their learning curve. He had put together a more comprehensive programme of drills and exercises designed to both improve his crew, and cement them as a team, than even he himself had ever been subjected to. He smiled to himself, remembering his own days as a midshipman. There would be more than one Ensign and junior grade Lieutenant cursing his name in the weeks to come.

The deaths of Gary and Lee Kelso had left the bridge alpha shift without a helmsman and a navigator, and he’d had to rethink the bridge assignments. To his immense relief, his first choice, Lieutenant Sulu, had accepted a move from Head of Astrophysics to permanent helmsman. He was looking forward to having the man's calm competence as a regular feature on the bridge.

He hadn’t appointed a permanent navigator, as no one candidate had been exceptional, and the position would be filled on a rotating basis by appropriately competent staff until a permanent appointment could be made. It wasn’t the ideal arrangement, but it was the best he had for now.

The current staff shortages in communications and medical would be resolved when the new crew arrived tomorrow, so only one position remained unfilled.

First officer.

Starfleet command was more than a little impatient for his decision. They’d offered to send him a new candidate of their choice, and he’d refused point blank. He hadn’t taken weeks sweating over the right balance of skills and personality for his senior staff, only for Starfleet to throw him a last minute curveball and wreck all his hard work. No, promotion from within was the best way.

Which left him with a list of current command level crew to pick from. In terms of seniority and length of service, the answer was obvious. There were two officers on board with the rank of Commander and lengths of service exceeding Kirk’s own. Unfortunately for the officers concerned, James Kirk didn’t have a lot of time for the notion of promoting someone because they hadn’t died. Neither did he have much time for the notion of rank as an indicator of competence. He knew enough Admirals he wouldn’t trust to pass a basic flight exam to make that a non starter.

So he had spent the week going from department to department within the ship, talking to their heads, who would be directly answerable to whoever he appointed, and as many of their staff as possible who were happy to chat to the Captain. The Enterprise wasn’t a democracy, but he hadn’t worked with all of the officers under consideration very long, and the opinion of their colleagues was a somewhat relevant factor. And on that basis too, the choice had been obvious. Commander Darren, the Enterprise’s security Chief, was competent, popular, and more than one of his fellow crew members had dropped less than subtle hints about his promotion. Kirk himself had a great deal of time for Darren, and it was far from the worst idea he’d heard.

Only one person had suggested the choice that Kirk’s best instincts were screaming at him to make. His Chief Engineer, in the middle of a conversation about conservation of power aboard the Enterprise, had said, ‘Aye, well, it’ll be up to Commander Spock to knock heads t’gither at the Heads of Department meetin’ next week. Make sure no-one's usin’ more’an their share.’

Kirk had said, somewhat bemused, ‘Commander _Spock_ will knock heads together?’

Scotty had suddenly realised his misstep and said hastily, ‘Er, well, aye. Or whoever gets the post. Sir.’

Kirk had said interestedly, and in a manner far more open about the purpose of this conversation than he'd used with anyone else, ‘You’re – assuming I'll appoint Spock.’

Scotty said awkwardly, ‘Well, aye.’

‘Could you tell me why? It won’t go any further.’

Scotty looked like he wanted to crawl into his engines and not come out. ‘Aye, well, he's -, well, he’s – obviously - the best for the job. Cap'n. Sir.’

Kirk said, taking pity on him, ‘Thank you for your input, Mister Scott.’

‘Aye, Sir.’ The engineer hurried away in relief.

Staring at the choices before him now, Kirk knew he agreed entirely with his Chief Engineer. Spock would need to be promoted to the correct rank, had never served as the first officer of a frontline starship, and had been suggested as a possibility by precisely one of his over four hundred crewmates. There had even seemed to be an assumption amongst the rest that Spock wasn’t even being considered for the role, which Kirk had found slightly irksome.

And yet. He was the closest Kirk had ever seen to over qualified for the role of science officer. His academic record alone would have secured him a role on the staff of any institute of higher education in the galaxy. His department was the best performing on the ship. No one had come within a million miles of querying his competence.

The unspoken objections that existed appeared to be based on the notion that Spock would be excluded from consideration because of who he was, not what he’d done. And yet, it was who he _was_ that had convinced Kirk of his suitability for the role. He been impressed by Spock's service record even before he’d met him, but he'd been more impressed with the man himself.

Nevertheless, the idea seemed to persist that Spock’s Vulcan nature made him unsuitable to command a ship of primarily human crew. Well, Kirk wasn’t buying it. Setting aside any anti-alien element in that objection, which was outright unacceptable on any Starfleet vessel, he did understand the fear sometimes present in human crewmembers of being commanded by someone who either lacked, or refused to acknowledge, the emotions so central to human existence. Not that it should ever make a difference. Orders, after all, were orders, whoever they came from.

What he didn’t understand, however, was how anyone could spend five minutes in Spock’s company and believe those objections had any merit whatsoever. He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but surely it’s existence was obvious to the meanest observer. The fact that Spock chose to follow the Vulcan path of logic made no difference, in Kirk’s mind, to his suitability as a potential first officer.

And yes, maybe he was relatively inexperienced in command roles. But everyone had to start somewhere. And Jim Kirk was more than happy to share expertise in the particular area to which he’d dedicated his entire life.

He absently rearranged the pile of candidates in front of him so Spock’s service record now sat at the top. His science officer’s picture looked back at him.

Spock’s eyes were incredibly dark. Kirk remembered him mentioning human ancestry and wondered how far back it went. Obviously not more than the handful of generations since regular interaction between Earth and Vulcan had been established. Spock himself couldn’t look more Vulcan if he’d tried. He wondered if Spock would object to being asked. Or perhaps his Captain’s curiosity should wait for further acquaintance.

He looked at the image in front of him, drew a slow breath, and felt soul deep certainty settle through his bones. He reached across his desk to the comm switch, and threw it.

‘Captain Kirk to Lieutenant Commander Spock.’

The reply was almost instantaneous, although Spock was technically off duty. ‘Spock here, Captain.’

‘Spock, can I see you in my quarters, if you’re not busy?’

‘I will be there in two point five minutes, Captain.’

Kirk closed the comm link and smiled at the unnecessary precision. He supposed he’d have to get used to it.

Two point five minutes later the door alert sounded.

‘Come in.’

Spock entered, looking, as ever, as if he’d just come on shift five minutes previously, and not like it was the end of a long and tiring day.

Kirk knew damn well they didn’t teach that at the Academy and wondered, not for the first time, what his secret was.

Aloud he said, ‘Thank you for coming so promptly, Mister Spock, I know you were off duty.’

‘How may I be of service, Captain?’

‘Take a seat.’

Spock sat where Kirk gestured, ramrod straight in the chair across his desk, and waited patiently.

Kirk said, getting straight to the point, ‘As you know, Starfleet has asked me to appoint a first officer by the end of the day. I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought over the last week, and I’d like to ask you.’

Spock looked at him expectantly.

Kirk waited.

Spock appeared to realise some response was required, and said uncertainly, ‘Is there a particular candidate on whose performance you would like my opinion, Captain?’

Kirk took a second to realise they were not even remotely on the same page.

‘Oh.’ He smiled. ‘No, Spock. I don’t want your opinion -'

Spock nodded, said, ‘Of course. You would like me to stick to facts. Quite logical, Captain. I am given to understand from my fellow department heads that Commander Darren’s name is being considered. I have always found him efficient, and well suited to his current position.’ He stopped, and at the look on Kirk's face, said, ‘I am also assured that he is highly personable, and believe that he would be an effective first officer.’

Kirk said, trying to vain to suppress a smile, ‘Well, you’ll get no argument from me. I served with Commander Darren on the Farragut. He’s a fine man. But I’m not making him my first officer.’

His science officer’s face assumed that expression that Kirk was coming to recognise as a Vulcan frown. He said, ‘My apologies, Captain, I should not have assumed.’

Kirk smiled at him. ‘Okay, let’s start this again.’ He took a breath. ‘Lieutenant Commander Spock. I would like to promote _you_, effectively immediately, to the rank of Commander and appoint you to the post of First Officer of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Also effective immediately.’

A moment went by and Spock’s expression didn’t change. Kirk realised he was seeing a Vulcan lost for words and inwardly cherished the moment, even as he said, ‘Spock, you got that, right? I was clear enough?’

Spock said faintly, ‘Yes, Captain.’

Kirk smiled, and slapped his hand on the desk. ‘Great. Well, I’ll get the paperwork started then.’ He stood, and extended a hand to his new first officer. ‘Congratulations, Commander.’

Spock had stood automatically as Kirk did, but he didn’t take the proffered hand.

Kirk frowned slightly, dropped his hand, and said, ‘Sorry Spock, is there some kind of Vulcan salutation for such an occasion? I’m not aware of -’

Spock said quietly, ‘There is not.’ He moved then, an oddly nervous motion, taking a few steps away from the desk before turning back to face his Captain.

Kirk rounded the desk and leaned against the side Spock had just vacated. ‘Is there problem, Mister Spock?’

When no answer was immediately forthcoming, he said, more gently, in an attempt to lighten the suddenly serious mood, ‘Well, this is the most unenthusiastic reaction I've ever had to an offer of promotion.’

Spock said quickly, ‘Captain, I – I appreciate your consideration of me.’ He seemed to feel that was inadequate, so he added, ‘Very much so.’

Kirk looked at him in surprise.

‘However, I cannot agree with your assessment that I would be the best choice for first officer.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Kirk was looking at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Enlighten me as to the better choice, Mister Spock, I’m curious.’

Spock drew a breath. ‘I have been informed that I am temperamentally unsuited to the command of a starship crewed by primarily human personnel.’

Kirk stared at him, bit back his initial sharp response of ‘What dammed idiot told you that?' and said evenly, ‘Surely, as your Captain, that’s for me to judge.’

Spock lowered his head in acknowledgement of this, but said, ‘Captain, I believe there to be some truth in the statement. I have been informed by my human colleagues on various occasions that, amongst other things, I lack compassion, sensitivity, sympathy, emotional intelligence, and that I am unapproachable. It has been represented to me that this renders me unsuitable as a person they would look to for guidance, although they might follow my orders. I have also been informed by various command track tutors that my approach is overly detailed, lacks flexibility, is too reliant on logic, and does not allow for the possibility of intuition, or what one tutor referred to as ’gut instinct’.

Kirk looked at him in disbelief._ And you’ve remembered every single one of those negative comments, haven’t you, Mister Spock._ He drew a deep breath, looked to the ceiling, and exhaled slowly.

Then he looked back to his science officer, and said with conviction, ‘Mister Spock, I have been informed that I am occasionally, a little hot headed. I have been informed that I have a tendency to rush in where angels fear to tread, to utilize an old earth expression. I have been informed that I am insufficiently reliant on logic - I know you’ll find that hard to believe -’ he shot his science officer a look of conspiratorial amusement and was rewarded with a slight raise of one eyebrow, ‘- and that I rely too heavily on old fashioned ‘gut instinct’, and what would amount to clever guesswork.’

‘All of which to say: we each have our strengths. For the record, on the evidence so far, I’d say a lot of what you’ve been told is crap, but even if it weren’t, those qualities that you’ve been told are your biggest flaws? I need those. Am I too emotional in this job sometimes? Yes. You saw that with Gary. You were right to pull me up on it.’ He took a breath and continued, ‘Do I occasionally want to act before considering all the potential consequences? Yes. Do I need someone to keep my feet on the ground, to give me all the relevant details? Yes.’

‘Those qualities you’ve been told first officers need? They’re right. In the theoretical. But I’m not looking for a theoretical first officer. I’m looking for _my_ first officer. Someone who will have my back, complement my strengths, and strengthen my weaknesses. Everything you’ve just said has made me even more convinced that person is you.’

He paused, leaned his weight against the desk, and sighed. ‘Spock, I - I owe you an apology. I made one of those comments you’ve just referred to. Ten days ago, in the briefing room. It was unworthy of me, and unjust to you, and I apologise unreservedly. It won’t happen again.’

He paused for a moment, watching the man before him and giving the statement a chance to land, before he continued, ‘Look, I won’t promote you without your agreement, it’s not my style. But I would ask you to think about what I’ve said. I believe that -’

‘I accept.’ Spock’s voice was quiet, but certain.

Kirk, whose mind had been halfway through another argument, said, ‘Sorry, did you -?’

‘I thank you for your offer, Captain, and should like to accept, effective immediately.’

Kirk grinned. ‘Spock, that’s - that’s great.’ He wasn’t sure he was succeeding in keeping the relief out of his voice. ‘That’s really great. What changed your mind?’

‘Your argument was persuasive. I was also thinking in the general, and had not considered the variables of this particular situation. However, I believe you are correct. For this ship and this crew, I believe I may be the – logical choice.’

‘I should have opened with the logic argument. Noted.’ He stepped forward, extended his hand.

‘Shall we try this again? Congratulations, Commander Spock.’

Spock hesitated for only a moment, before moving closer and enclosing Kirk’s hand with his own. ‘Thank you, Captain. I shall endeavour to justify your faith in me.’

Kirk almost laughed, brought his other hand up to cover Spock’s. ‘Mister Spock, I am certain that you will.’ Something of his complete conviction of the truth of this statement must have communicated itself to Spock, because his expression gentled, and something that could almost have been a smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. Kirk watched the change of expression in pleased fascination before realising that he still had hold of Spock’s hand. His skin, cooler than expected, was beginning to warm under Kirk’s touch.

He released his newly appointed first officer’s hand, and adopted a serious expression. ‘There is a potential downside to this situation that I don’t think you’ve considered, Mister Spock.’

Spock looked at him, and Jim could almost see the wheels turning as he reviewed the consequences of his decision. ‘To what are you referring, Captain?’

Kirk smiled. ‘You're going to be spending a lot more time with me.’

Spock’s face drained of expression. ‘It is a hardship I will be forced to bear, Captain.’

For the briefest of moments, Kirk experienced the sinking sensation that he might be serious, then he caught Spock’s eye. There was amusement in those brown depths, and he laughed in relief.

‘Okay, I walked into that, but you can bet I’ll be more careful in future.’ He smiled at his new first officer for a moment, then said, ‘Great. I’ll let you rest now, but come back tomorrow an hour before alpha lift and we’ll start working through the parameters of your new role.’

Spock said, and Kirk could have sworn that there was a warmth in his tone that hadn’t been there before. ‘I look forward to it, Captain.’

He said affectionately, ‘G’night, Spock.’

‘Goodnight, Captain.’

As Spock left, Kirk turned towards his bed and let out a sigh of pure relief. It was going to be okay. This was the right decision. He knew it in his bones.

For the first time since Gary’s death, he thought he might actually get a good night’s sleep.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: McCoy! And Uhura!


	3. The Doctor, and these Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set around the episode Mudd's Women, and before The Corbomite Maneuver. Again, any questions, drop a note in the comments. xx

_ USS Enterprise, _ _ Stardate__: 1388.2 (Terran calendar: 3__rd _ _ November 2265) _

It was the swearing that caught Spock’s attention as he passed the transporter room. That, and the raised voice. Deciding that he could afford to delay his return to the Enterprise’s main lab by at least seven minutes, he diverted his steps to investigate the sound. 

As he entered the transporter room, the chief was saying, with the air of a man beating his head against a wall, ‘Honestly, sir, it was a perfectly normal beam in, no problems at all.’ 

On the edge of the transporter platform a human male in an over -large jacket was sitting slumped next to a travelling bag, head in his hands. Spock heard, slightly muffled, ‘Says you who wasn’t the one in the goddamned beam, with his atoms being scattered all over -' 

Spock addressed the transporter chief. ‘Was there a problem with the transport, Lieutenant?’ 

The chief said hastily, ‘Not at all, sir, completely textbook.’ 

The figure on the platform looked up at the new voice, and said dryly, ‘And you must be the welcoming committee. Unusual assignment for a Vulcan.’ 

Spock was trying to identify the accent. Definitely Earth. Americas. Aloud he said, ‘I am Commander Spock, First Officer of the Enterprise.’ There was still a most unVulcan thrill associated with saying that out loud, which he ruthlessly suppressed. 

‘Well, ain’t that a treat for me.’ The man's voice was pleasant, if currently unidentifiable. ‘Where is he then, Captain Pressgang? Too busy to greet an old friend?’ 

Spock said icily, ‘Captain _Kirk _is on the bridge and is not in the habit of leaving his duties thereon to greet arriving personnel. What is your -' 

‘Ohhhh is he not? Well you tell him I didn’t come half way across the galaxy and suffer the trauma of a ritual atom scattering just to be -' 

Spock interrupted blandly, ‘For a Starfleet officer, your understanding of the functioning of the transporter is concerningly deficient.’ 

The figure gaped at him. His voice rose again. ‘I’ll give you deficient, you - 

Spock’s ears detected the rapid beat of footsteps outside the room just before the doors slid open and Kirk entered at a rush. He spied the figure on the floor and grinned in delight. ‘Bones!’ He seized the older man under the arms and dragged him upright and into a crushing hug. 

Spock noted that the expression on the newcomer’s face, which he had assumed was a permanent frown, relaxed immediately, although his voice was still rough as he said, ‘It’s about time. Your Vulcan here was just telling how you’re too busy and important to fraternize with the plebes.’ 

Spock opened his mouth to protest this interpretation of his words but Kirk was already laughing, saying, ‘Yes, and I’m sure those were his exact words.’ In the tone he used – and Spock was just_ slightly _proud of himself for being able to identify this – when he actually meant the opposite of whatever he was saying. The illogic of humans was seemingly endless. 

McCoy’s face had relaxed further into a look of amusement at Kirk’s laugh, and he said, with more warmth than Spock had observed thus far, ‘It's good to see you, Jim. Looks like the center chair suits you.’ 

Kirk released him to arm's length as he said, ‘Good to see you too, Bones. God, I can’t tell you how much. I am in desperate need of a good CMO, and happily for me, you’re the best.’ 

Spock raised an eyebrow. This – scruffy, rude, transporter-averse human - was the decorated doctor of whom the Captain had spoken? It seemed unlikely, and yet, here he was. 

The doctor was saying, looking gruffly pleased, ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’ 

A thought seemed to occur to him and the smile fell away. He said seriously, ‘Jim – I was so sorry to hear about Gary.’ 

Spock stiffened, glancing at Kirk. Only in the last few days had his Captain begun to regain some of the natural ebullience that had characterized the man Spock had met on his first day. The reminder of Commander Mitchell’s death was unwelcome and Spock stared at the doctor in tense disapproval. 

Kirk said, his smile fading, ‘Thanks, Bones. It’s been- ‘ he broke off. ‘Yeah. I wish you’d been here.’ 

An odd sensation arose in Spock’s gut. A feeling of being, in some way, inadequate. He squashed it immediately. It was highly illogical to seek to replace a friendship of long standing with an association of only months in duration. 

The doctor had gripped Kirk’s arms in a show of support and Kirk was smiling again, albeit not quite so widely, as he turned to Spock. 

‘Luckily, I had Commander Spock here to look out for me.’ The doctor looked like he didn't think this would have been much compensation. ‘Spock, this is Leonard McCoy, our new Chief Medical Officer.’ 

Spock said stiffly, ‘I am – pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor McCoy.’ 

McCoy stuck out a hand, and began, ‘Like –‘ before Kirk elbowed him in the ribs. He turned to Kirk in surprise, and the latter inclined his head towards Spock, eyebrows raised. McCoy’s face fell. Kirk looked at him. McCoy opened his mouth to make what Spock was sure would have been a protest of some description. Kirk stared him down. 

The doctor glared back, then issued a pointed sigh and slowly raised a hand. Spock frowned slightly, wondering why the doctor was waggling his fingers at him. Kirk rolled his eyes, reached across, and physically moved McCoy’s hand into the ta'al. 

McCoy said, still looking daggers at Kirk, who was grinning, ‘Live long and prosper, Commander.’ Spock didn’t think he’d ever heard the greeting so unenthusiastically delivered. He also didn’t think he’d come so perilously close to smiling in public in recent memory. 

Kirk said, still cheerful, ‘I knew you two would get along.’ 

* 

Nyota Uhura was nervous. It wasn’t a sensation she felt often, and it wasn’t one she liked now. Nevertheless, there it was. She was holding a padd in her hand, and her bag in the other. The padd could easily have fitted in her bag, but she couldn’t put it away, lest she succumb to the temptation to bite her thumbnail with nerves. And she’d spent some little time yesterday trying to stem her nerves with some pampering, and she had truly superb nails that she didn’t want to ruin. So she bit her lip instead as she waited on the transporter pad. 

‘Sorry about this Lieutenant,’ the tech’s head appeared from behind the console. ‘We’re nearly there.’ 

‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant,’ she said gently, ‘Just as soon as you can.’ 

He smiled dazedly at her for a few moments, until she cleared her throat and he seemed to remember his purpose and ducked back behind the console. A few minutes later there was a pop and a hiss and he swore, then called, ‘Nearly there, Lieutenant’ in a voice that was more hopeful than reassuring. Uhura sighed and shifted her weight. 

Her thoughts turned again to her destination. The Enterprise. For five years. To the ends of the known galaxy, under the youngest Captain in the ‘fleet. Her first deep space assignment. Her first Head of Department role. Her first regular bridge assignment. Her hand tightened on her bag. She’d heard some conflicting reports about James Kirk. She knew some people who’d taken his class at the Academy, and he’d been known as a hard-ass. She knew some people who’d served with him, and whilst he was known to be highly competent, approachable friendliness wasn’t the second characteristic that was mentioned. Ambition and a ruthless work ethic came up a lot. 

Uhura shifted, rolled her neck. Well, she could work with that. She was a hard worker, and ambitious, so that was fine. She did find herself hoping that he was, well, likable though. Five years was a hell of long time to take orders from someone you didn’t like. But she was a professional. She could see it through. She needed to see it through. She’d given up a lot for this chance. She thought, briefly, of Lani, and sighed. Long distance relationships didn’t work. Not over that kind of distance. Not for five years. 

The transporter tech’s head popped up again. ‘Nearly got it.’ She gave him a slightly thinner version of her earlier smile. 

She gestured to the console, and asked again, ‘Are you _sure _you don’t want me to -?’ 

‘Oh, no, honestly, got it now.’ His head disappeared again, and then, finally he stood. ‘Okay, we’re good to go.’ He hit the comm switch, ‘Enterprise, do you stand ready to receive.’ 

The voice of the Enterprise’s transporter tech on duty came back with a dry, ‘Only for the last ten minutes.’ 

He looked to Uhura and she nodded encouragingly at him. He said, ‘Have a safe journey, Lieutenant. Five years in deep space. I’m a bit - ‘ 

She never found what bit he was as the room dissolved before her eyes and finally, _finally _the _Enterprise _appeared. 

She gazed around the room with a thrill. A starship. Her home for five years. Even with her nerves, and the wait, and with everything she was leaving behind, she couldn’t help the wide grin that crept to her face. She breathed out slowly, with an almost inaudible, ‘Hello’. 

The tech behind the console, who was watching her with a smile, said gently, ‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ 

‘Oh she is,’ Uhura said, and stepped down from the pad, ‘I can’t wait to get to know her better.’ 

The tech stepped around in front of the console. ‘Well, I’d be happy to give you a tour when you’re settled in.’ Uhura, who had turned around to look at the pad she’d just stepped off, said absently, ‘Well, I’d certainly appreciate that, thank you. It is a little daunting, a ship this size. It’s my first alpha shift on the bridge tomorrow, so maybe afterwards?’ They were six pads on the console, and this wasn’t even the only transporter room. The ship was _huge_. 

The tech said, and his voice sounded amused, ‘Funnily enough, it’s my bridge shift tomorrow too. Not my first, obviously, I’ve had a few.’ 

She said quickly, ‘Oh good, then maybe you can tell me what the Captain’s like. I -‘ she swung round to face him and the words died in her throat. Out of the shadows behind the console, the tech in front of her clearly wasn’t wearing the red of engineering, but the gold of command. And there were – oh _god _– three stripes of rank on his sleeves. 

He said innocently, ‘What the Captain’s like?’ He scratched his face and gazed at the ceiling for a moment as if giving the matter serious thought. Uhura wanted the deck to swallow her. ‘Well, he seems alright to me. But then I admit I may be biased.’ 

She swallowed hard, ‘Captain Kirk. Sir.’ She extended her hand, realized she was still holding her padd, and fumbled it to her other hand as she said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s a pleasure to - ‘ 

He waved his hand and smiled. ‘Stand down Lieutenant - I’m the one who should apologize – I didn’t intend to ambush you. I’ve been meeting all the new department heads, and Lieutenant Datan got called away, so I said I’d handle the beam in. Didn’t realize it was going to take quite so long, though.’ 

Uhura said with feeling, ‘Neither did I, sir. And the tech on console wouldn’t let me have a go at it, even though I’ve probably got more time in ops than he’s had - ‘ she broke off, ‘Anyway, I'm – I'm sorry to have wasted your time, sir.’ 

Kirk smiled, ‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant, you’re here now, that’s the important thing.’ He added, ‘And keen to see the ship.’ 

‘Oh yes, sir,’ she smiled back. He looked gratified by her enthusiasm, and she felt her heart rate start to even out. Maybe this wasn’t a total disaster after all. 

He said, as he turned towards the door, ‘Do you have time, now, for the quick tour?’ He gave her a conspiratorial grin. ‘I’ve got half an hour before Commander Spock comes looking for me.’ 

Uhura thought, with a rush of relief. _Oh, he _ _ is __likeable. Thank goodness. _

She smiled back. ‘That would be - brilliant, sir, actually. Thank you. If you’re sure.’ 

He nodded to her bag, ‘We’ll swing by deck nine first, you can drop that, then – engineering, I think.’ He looked positively gleeful at the thought of showing off his ship, and she thought, unexpectedly, _ For someone with such a fearsome reputation, he actually seems quite – sweet. _

He took a step towards the door and stopped again, turning to face her. He said ruefully, ‘God, I’ll never get a role as a diplomat. I had one job here.’ He cleared his throat, extended his hand, and said, ‘Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_, Lieutenant Uhura.’ 

* 

Leonard McCoy stood in his quarters, surveying the mess. There wasn’t a lot of mess, as he hadn’t brought a lot with him. In fact, he reflected, it was pretty pathetic cconsidering that, apart from a few boxes in a spare room in a friend’s cabin in the wilds of rural Georgia, it was all he had in the world. But then travelling the galaxy at the behest of Starfleet tended to do that to a person’s life. Strip it down to the bare essentials. He picked up a Capellan ceremonial idol and added it carefully to one of his boxes. He’d had the idea, early on in his travels, that he would take a souvenir from every world he visited, and one day, sit down with his daughter and tell her about the galaxy, and all the places her daddy had seen. He supposed he’d hoped she’d be proud of him, understand why he was away so much. 

That seemed – less likely now. Adele had made it clear that his presence was unwelcome in both of their lives. And he’d respected her wishes. Not that he had a great deal of choice – endless off planet assignments had seen to that. And here he was, making it worse. Five years, and all he would see of Joanna would be the occasional message. He picked up her picture from the last box. Fifteen years old, smiling into the camera, she looked beautiful, brave and ready to take on the galaxy. Not remotely amenable to her father’s hopes that she stay safely on Earth. Just like her mother. 

She hadn’t been smiling the last time he’d seen her. On the viewscreen in his temporary quarters, telling her about the Enterprise. The five-year mission. 

‘So y’won’t be here for my sixteenth, then?’ 

‘No, darlin’, I won’t. I’m so sorry.’ 

God, her face had hurt. She hadn’t even looked surprised. As if being disappointed by her father was such a regular occurrence that it didn’t really merit a reaction. He’d said quickly, ‘I’ll talk to Jim though, see if I can’t get leave for your seventeenth. She’d brightened a little at that. ‘Tell Jim he can come too.’ It was a source of some bemusement to McCoy that despite only meeting him on a handful of occasions, and being - probably fairly - deemed by his ex ‘a bad influence’ - both Adele and Joanna still liked Jim Kirk. 

‘I’ll tell him, darlin’.’ Christ, he’d make the whole damn ship attend if she’d smile at him again. 

She’d added, and her eyes had started to look a bit moist, and his heart had seized – _ please, __darlin',__ don’t cry _ \- ‘I - I s’pose it’s good that you’ll be there. I mean, Jim needs someone to look out for him, doesn’t he? He’ll only get in trouble if you’re not there.’ 

And wasn’t that the truth. ‘Aye, darlin’ he certainly will. I mean, he’ll get in trouble anyway, but at least this way I can patch him up.’ She’d smiled at that, sniffed, and swallowed. 

‘Say hey for me.’ 

‘I will.’ In the background he heard Adele’s voice, calling Joanna’s name. 

She turned her head. ‘Uh, gotta go, dinner.’ 

He said quickly, ‘Well, you be a good girl now, do your homework, do as your momma says.’ 

She’d rolled her eyes at that. ‘Daaad. You don’t need to say that stuff, I’m not a kid.’ 

_ Yes you are_, he thought. _And you nearly died a few years ago, and the galaxy is big, and dangerous, and I’m too far away._ He made himself smile, ‘I know, honey-pie. You run along now, don’t make your momma mad.’ 

That had been over a month ago and he hadn’t been able to contact her since. Adele wasn’t obstructive, exactly, but she wasn’t helpful either. Maybe these five years would be good for them. Forced estrangement. Maybe they could interact like healthy, well-adjusted adults by the time he got back. And maybe pigs might fly. 

He began to put his meagre off duty clothes into the drawers provided. It was lucky he didn’t have much, because he’d struggle to get more than two outfits into this amount of space. Still, at least he had quarters to himself, unlike some ships he’d been on. 

He wondered how Adele was doing. Who she was with. Not that he really wanted to know. It wasn’t that he wished his ex ill – certainly not any more – he was happy for her to be happy. He just wanted her happiness to be a theoretical thing only as far as his knowledge of it was concerned. Taking place away from his immediate sight. He and Joanna never spoke of Adele, and she never asked about him. 

His mind drifted back to Jim as he unpacked, and the scene in the transporter room. He frowned to himself. How goddamn typical of Jim to have appointed a goddamn _Vulcan _as his first officer. Over 400 crew to choose from, and he went for the one McCoy least wanted to spend time with. He sighed, rubbed a hand across his face. It wasn’t Spock’s fault he’d had the superiority of Vulcans shoved down his throat for the last bitter, acrimonious year before his marriage finally imploded. Not Spock’s fault that the person Adele had always used to highlight McCoy’s failings as a husband – too emotional, too quick to anger, too obsessed with medicine, too goddam _everything _\- had been her new Vulcan lecturer. 

Unfortunately, Commander Spock hadn’t seemed any less superior than most Vulcans McCoy had met. So that was going to be grating. Five more years of having the superiority of Vulcans pointed out at every opportunity. Well this time, McCoy wasn’t going to let it slide to keep the peace. He was going to give as good as he got. 

He sighed as he threw his now empty bag into the back of the closet. Aside from being an emotional thorn in his side, Spock was also going to be a lot of extra work. He eyed the padd on his nightstand. He’d already comprehensively reviewed Spock’s unique physiology twice, but he was going to have to do it _again_, that much was clear. Because now, he was first officer. Now, he’d be going on all the landing parties, and the chances of him being injured had just rocketed. _Thanks, Jim. _

_ Not Spock’s fault. _He had to remember that. And speak to Jim at the first opportunity about what the hell had possessed him to appoint a Vulcan in the first place. 

* 

_ Well that shouldn’t be there_. Uhura stared at the Jeffries tube entrance ladder at the end of the corridor she had just entered . Despite her expectant gaze, it stubbornly refused to transform itself into the bridge turbolift, so she backtracked her steps and picked another, parallel, corridor. At her third attempt at corridor roulette, she spotted the bridge turbolift at the end of what she’d thought was entirely the wrong corridor the first time. As she hurried towards it, she reflected ruefully that a review of the Enterprise’s floor plans after her shift might be in order. She was still early though, just not now quite as early as she’d hoped to be. She wanted to give herself as long as possible to handover with her gamma shift colleague, who, whilst not as experienced, had served on the Enterprise longer and would know the foibles – and there were _ always _foibles – of the communications station. 

As she reached the turbolift, another crewmen appeared at her side, apparently also headed for the bridge. She glanced across at the tall figure in science blues, then up at dark hair and indisputably Vulcan ears. She said in pleased surprised, ‘Commander Spock!’ 

Dark eyes turned to hers. Goodness, but he was intimidating. Quite handsome too, in a severe way. She added quickly, aware that she’d basically blurted his name with no context, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’ 

He inclined his head gracefully. ‘Likewise, Lieutenant Uhura.’ 

She made a noise of irritation. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, sir, you quite took me by surprise.’ She held up her hand in a flawless ta’al and said, in perfect Vulcan, ‘Dif-tor heh smusma, Schn T’gai Spock t’Ah’rak.’ 

Spock stared at the petite human beside him in disbelief, almost missing the arrival of the turbolift. Almost a decade without hearing his native language, and now twice in almost as many months. And this time, in an accent so practiced it sounded almost native. As they stepped into the lift, he raised his hand in return. ‘Sochya eh dif, ot-lan Uhura t’Terra.’ 

She smiled up at him in delight, then continued, still in careful Vulcan, ‘You’ll have to forgive me, sir, I’m a little out of practice, and I’m sure my accent has slipped terribly. I was delighted to read you’d be on board; I hope it wouldn’t be too out of line for me to practice my Vulcan on you occasionally. I’d be awfully grateful.’ She dropped into standard in a linguistic turn so rapid Spock blinked, ignoring the pull at his heart that hearing her lovely voice speaking his language had produced. ‘Did that all make sense?’ 

He recovered himself quickly, ‘Your Vulcan is highly proficient, Lieutenant. May I ask where you learned?’ 

‘One of my language lecturers at the academy was Vulcan, sir, they had an exchange programme with the Vulcan Academy.’ She sighed longingly. ‘I’ve always wanted to see Vulcan; it sounds so lovely.’ 

Spock looked at her in curiosity. HIs home _ was _lovely, in his eyes at least. But he’d learned quickly that this was a minority opinion on Earth. He’d heard Vulcan variously described as a featureless desert, a blast furnace, and the sand capital of the Federation, all on more than one occasion. 

As the turbolift slowed and came to a stop, he said, ‘Given your Starfleet service, it is likely you will get the chance one day, Lieutenant.’ 

As the doors opened, she said, ‘Oh, I do hope so, sir.’ She broke off, gazing around the bridge in wide-eyed appreciation as they stepped out of the turbolift. 

Spock watched her patiently. _Humans are so easily distracted_. He said sincerely, ‘It was a pleasure to speak to you, Lieutenant.’ 

She returned her awestruck gaze to him, and smiled warmly. ‘Likewise, sir.’ As he took his station, she greeted the Ensign currently at her post. She would definitely spend more time talking to Commander Spock. Find out more about Vulcan. She couldn’t resist a thrill of happiness as she took her post. This was a good day already. 

* 

From his position next to the engineering station, Kirk saw Spock and Uhura arrive on the bridge, and heard the end of their conversation. He was starting to learn the difference between Spock’s usual tone of neutral politeness, and genuine pleasure at a conversation. It’d taken him over a week of concerted effort to get that tone from Spock. Uhura had apparently managed it in less than twenty-four hours of acquaintance. 

She was certainly pleasant company. And she’d been touchingly delighted with the Enterprise during their tour yesterday. Anyone who held a positive opinion of Kirk’s ship was good people, as far as he was concerned. His eyes shifted to Spock. They’d spent almost all of their time together in the last few days since Spock’s promotion. Until last night, when he’d gone to McCoy’s quarters and persuaded him to ‘fess up about his inevitable stash of saurian brandy. He hoped Spock hadn’t taken that as any kind of slight, then mentally scoffed at himself for the thought. Spock was far too sensible for that. 

* 

Kirk was sitting at his desk, going through non-urgent external messages from the past week. Across from him, Spock was working through the next month of duty rosters. Kirk sighed, muttered to himself, then made a noise of affectionate frustration. He looked up from the message to find Spock regarding him with curiosity. 

He smiled. ‘Sorry. Message from my mother. Am I looking after myself? Eating well. Staying warm. When am I getting leave? When am I going to bring someone home for her to meet? Why don’t I message her more often?’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’m in _deep space_. She knows this. She went through it all with my Dad.’ He sighed. ‘But I guess that’s why. She worries. I should – yeah, I should get in touch more. Book a time with comms to speak to her.’ He looked over at Spock and made himself smile. ‘I bet you don’t have this problem. I bet Vulcan mothers nag in a very logical way.’ 

Spock’s face assumed an odd expression that Kirk didn’t recognise, but he _felt_. Sudden neutralisation of unexpected pain. Kirk was all at once acutely aware that he didn’t actually know anything about Spock’s parents. Their identities didn’t appear on his service record, and the only place Kirk had looked beyond his service record was his scientific record. He’d never spoken of them. Maybe there was a reason he’d left Vulcan for Earth at such a relatively young age. Christ, maybe they were dead and he’d just blundered into same hideous personal tragedy entirely unannounced. He said, concerned, ‘Sorry, Spock, I – I didn’t mean to pry.’ 

Spock’s expression had smoothed out again. He appeared to be deep in thought. After a moment, he said slowly, ‘My mother - expresses similar concerns in her missives. She – enquires frequently whether I am happy, in spite of her years on Vulcan and her long exposure to our cultural norms. It is – highly illogical.’ 

Kirk cocked his head interestedly. ‘Your mother wasn’t born on Vulcan?’ 

‘No, she was born in San Francisco.’ 

Kirk looked surprised. ‘Were her parents stationed there? Part of the diplomatic corp?’ 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘No, her mother was a high school teacher and her father a university lecturer.’ 

Kirk stared. ‘On _Earth_?’ 

‘Yes.’ Spock noticeably swallowed. ‘Jim, you - appear to be labouring under a misapprehension. My mother is not Vulcan. She is human.’ 

Kirk stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, ‘Sorry Spock, run that by me again.’ 

‘My mother is human. She met my father on Earth and returned with him to Vulcan to live. However, she remains, in her attitudes and emotionality, very human in nature.’ 

Kirk was still staring at him. He said quietly, ‘So - you’re half human?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘I didn’t know that.’ 

Spock felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. ‘There is no reason you should have, Captain.’ 

Kirk seemed to stir. ‘No, no there isn’t. Quite right, Mister Spock.’ But his voice lacked something of it’s usual enthusiasm. 

* 

Later, after Spock’s departure, Kirk stared unseeing at the padd in front of him. Spock was half human. And he hadn’t known. Why hadn’t he known? And why did it bother him that he hadn’t known? Who else knew? An obvious suspect occurred to him and he debated with himself briefly before exiting his quarters. 

He walked uninvited into McCoy’s office, waited for the door to shut behind him to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard, then said, ‘Spock’s half-human.’ 

McCoy looked up from his padd. ‘Hi Jim, come in, make yourself at home.’ 

‘Spock. Is half human.’ 

‘Told you, did he.’ 

‘You knew.’ 

‘No, I generally like to wait until my crewmen with exotic alien physiologies are injured before familiarising myself with their internal layout. Keeps it interesting for me.’ He leaned across his desk with a false look of wide-eyed enthusiasm. ‘I do love surprises.’ 

Kirk cut him a glare. ‘Ha, ha, Doctor.’ 

‘Of course I knew, I’m just surprised you didn't. You two seem to be thick as thieves.’ 

Kirk had sunk into a chair with a frown. ‘It’s just – it's never come up. I like him to tell me stuff – I don’t want to pry. 

McCoy said sceptically, ‘Since when?’ 

‘He’s pretty private, Bones. As his Captain - and his friend - I need to respect that. But it explains a lot, don’t you think?’ 

‘Such as what? His soft, sentimental side? I’d’ve thought he keeps it very well bloody hidden, actually.’ 

Kirk said thoughtfully, ‘Exactly.’ 

‘Exactly, what?’ 

‘He keeps it hidden. Never mentions it. Doesn’t talk about his parents. I mean, he said once that he had human ancestry, but I thought he meant a few generations back, not his _mom_.’ 

McCoy stared at him. ‘Did you even listen in xenobiology class? Or did you spend all your time in the command and engineering rotations?’ Kirk shifted and McCoy sighed. ‘Don’t answer that.’ 

He continued, ‘Well, if you’d listened - or even _attended_, you’d know that prior to a few decades ago, there were no half Vulcan, half human children, and not just because there were no Vulcan / Human marriages. Because the science hadn’t caught up and it wasn’t actually possible.’ 

Kirk said, uncomfortably, ‘You mean, it doesn’t - just happen – when -?’ 

‘Give me strength. Between two_ entirely different species_? No, Jim, it doesn’t. Mother Nature needed a bit of a helping hand.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘But there are other half Vulcan, half humans out there, surely?’ 

‘I assume so, it’s not exactly my area of expertise, but science has spoken, so it’s absolutely possible now. But certainly for a few decades there, your pointy eared friend was a walking genetic miracle all on his own.’ 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. ‘Wow.’ 

‘Yep.’ McCoy shook his head. ‘Let’s all raise a glass to Mrs Spock’s Mom, whoever she may be, for defying common sense, Mother Nature, and Vulcan biology to produce your first officer.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘I can’t believe he’s never even mentioned it.’ 

McCoy stared. ‘Why would he mention it? I mean, other than to medical professionals whose life he’s about to make significantly more complicated – thanks again for making him first officer so he goes on all the landing parties, by the way - who would be interested?’ 

Kirk stared at him. ‘Everyone, Bones. Everyone he works with. Do you think he got through the Academy without some of that anti-alien crap being thrown in his face? Christ, he still gets that here. Not in my damn hearing, but I bet he does. He could have made it easier on himself, you know, ‘Hey, I’m one of you, you racist - .’’ 

‘Think you just answered your own question there, Jim. Not a team you’d want to be on. And besides, to a certain mindset, that just makes it worse. ‘Oh, you’re half human, but you choose to live as a Vulcan, what, we not good enough for you?’ He can’t win.’ 

‘Yes, but we’re not all like that, he could have _said _\- ‘ 

McCoy looked at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s not _everyone_, is it? It's you. You're put out because _you _didn’t know.’ 

‘I’m not put out.’ 

McCoy drawled, ‘Yeah, y’are.’ 

Kirk said, a little defensively, ‘Well, I am his Captain. I mean, it might have been important.’ He frowned. ‘I bet Pike knew.’ 

McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘Jim Kirk, you class A fraud. It’s nothing to do with being his Captain. You’re put out because your special Vulcan friend had a secret and took ‘til now to tell you.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘Well that makes me sound – a bit petty.’ 

McCoy laughed. ‘It makes you sound like the one hundred percent human you are.’ 

A smile reluctantly tugged at Kirk’s mouth. ‘Yeah. I suppose I am being a bit – but we’ve got - friendly, you know. It’s been six months. I thought we’d done all the basic ‘oh actually my mom was from another planet’ stuff.’ 

McCoy said patiently. ‘Your parents are from Iowa. It's not the same. You know, you could just ask him.’ 

‘In a way that doesn’t make me sound petty?’ 

‘Nope, you’ll have to sound petty.’ 

‘I’ll leave it, it doesn’t matter.’ 

McCoy groaned. ‘Get out of my sickbay.’ 

* 

Spock was experiencing a measure of concern. Doctor McCoy had requested his presence. This was not a summons that habitually boded well for someone of his mixed physiology. Despite his full medical records being available to any physician with whom he had served, he was invariably subject to extra physicals, scans, and tests, particularly by those who were new to his care. It had lessened in recent years, as Doctor Piper had grown used to him, and Spock had enjoyed the relative freedom of being no more medically interesting than his human colleagues. 

But now the Enterprise had a new CMO. And an almost entirely new medical staff. He wondered, aware of his own level of tired cynicism on this subject, if Leonard McCoy, the new, rude, scruffy human doctor, was overdue for a notable paper in one of the medical journals, and hoping to use Starfleet’s only Vulcan/Human hybrid as a subject. It wouldn’t be the first time. Undoubtedly, he was, as his human colleagues liked to say, in terms of medical interest, back to square one. 

So it was with some trepidation that he arrived at McCoy's office and took a seat opposite the Enterprise's CMO as instructed. 

Doctor McCoy - clean shaven now, and in a pristine medical services uniform, Spock noted with approval - said, ‘Thank you for coming, Commander, I’ll get right to it. I’ve studied your medical history and I’m somewhat confused.’ 

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

The doctor continued, ‘For no reason I can discern, you have been having full body and brain scans every two months since you were,’ he checked his padd, ‘_seventeen_. The results of which are sent to the Vulcan Medical Institute.’ He paused.

Spock waited. 

‘So I guess my question is, do we still need to be doing that? Because the results have not significantly altered since you were twenty five. And I’m not really minded to run time-consuming and invasive scans and tests every couple of months just to satisfy what frankly must be idle curiosity on the part of the VMI at this point.’ 

Spock said stiffly, ‘The tests were part of the – agreement - allowing me to leave Vulcan. As I am sure you are aware, my physiology is unique, and presented the physicians of my youth with a unique set of challenges. Weekly scans allowed them to keep on top of any issues as they arose.’ 

McCoy said, ‘Weekly?!’ 

‘As I grew older and my physiology became more firmly established the scans reduced to monthly. Until I left Vulcan for Earth, when it was agreed that bi-monthly would be sufficient.’ 

McCoy said, ‘Sufficient for what?’ 

‘To allow for continual monitoring.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘There was a concern that my physiology might become – unstable. Or fall victim to an as yet unpredicted problem.’ 

McCoy said slowly, ‘Right. But I’ve reviewed every one of those scans and to my eye there’s never been a significant risk of that.’ 

‘The risk was deemed statistically likely.’ 

‘Okay, but even given that, you wouldn’t need to be a CMO to notice that your scans have been _completely _stable for more than eight years. And even before that, their instability for two decades prior was nothing that I’d consider out of ordinary for a young person not finished growing.’ 

He rubbed a hand across his face. ‘What I’m saying here, Spock, is that as your Doctor, I would be more than happy to write to the VMI on your behalf and tell them to wind their necks in.’ 

Spock stared at him for a long moment. 

McCoy indicated the padd in his hands and said, ‘Commander, it doesn’t matter what criteria I use, human or Vulcan, you are in excellent physical and mental health. By Vulcan standards you’re excellent and by human standards you’re off the charts. As your Doctor, I can’t see any reason why you can’t just have regular Starfleet physicals like everyone else. Tailored to you, obviously, but no more than that.’ 

For a moment, Spock couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. This odd, human doctor was essentially proposing that he be reduced to the level of medical interest of every other crew member. Permanently. 

Around a strange constriction in his throat, he said, slowly, ‘And you – would be happy with this approach?’ 

McCoy snorted. ‘As opposed to having to spend a day every other month wasting both of our times? I’d say so, yes.’ 

Spock licked his dry lips. He said, ‘And you are confident that you will be able to identify any problems arising under this new arrangement?’ 

McCoy said, with an understanding that Spock would not have credited him with, ‘You mean, can I be trusted to look out for you without the great and wonderful Vulcan Medical Institute looking over my shoulder?’ 

He laid the padd face down on his desk and interlaced his hands over the top. He said quickly, with the air of man reciting details long committed to memory, ‘Although your heart rate can go well below one hundred beats per minute in a healing trance or deep sleep, your average resting heart rate is over 200 beats per minute, topping out at over 300 bpm under exertion. Your blood pressure is generally in the hypoxic range by human standards, 90/60 being a good average for you. Anything over 200 in the systolic range would be highly dangerous, even for your robust system. 

‘Your respiratory rate is comparable to human norms, however your lungs are 40% more efficient at extracting oxygen from the air, due to their greater internal surface area, presumably evolution's way of coping with the thinner air on Vulcan. Your internal organs are laid out exactly in line with Vulcan anatomy, with the exception of your liver and heart, which are precisely one and three centimetres respectively higher than would be considered within Vulcan norms. 

‘Your skeletal structure also follows Vulcan physiology precisely, including increased density. The same is true of your musculature, rendering your strength and stamina well outside of the upper range of human exceptionality, and slightly outside of Vulcan norms. And don’t think that I won’t be accounting for that in your physical either, because you’d better believe I will. 

‘Your metabolism - ‘ 

‘Doctor.’ 

‘Yes, Commander?’ 

‘Your point is made.’ 

‘Good. But you need to remember that trust is a two-way street, Spock. If I’m not giving you more attention than anyone else, then you have the same obligation as anyone else: the second you think anything is out of whack, you get down here. Don’t play the hero. And don’t look to your Captain for an example there either. He's the worst patient I’ve ever had the misfortune to treat.’ 

‘Noted, Doctor.’ 

McCoy said casually, ‘Speaking of Jim, I’m glad you saw fit to mention your unique physiology to him. He likes to be cool about letting people tell him stuff, but he really hates surprises.’ He shot Spock a grimace. ‘Chalk it up to the natural control freakery of starship captains.’ 

Spock said, somewhat defensively, ‘There was no attempt at concealment on my part.’ 

‘Oh I’m sure, but you guys have been in each other’s pockets for six months and it never came up? You can see how it might look that way to Jim. Anyway, doesn’t matter now. Scram out of my sickbay, if I'm lucky I might get some actual patients without you darkening my doorway.’ 

* 

Spock walked back from sickbay deep in thought. He had not attempted to conceal his nature from his Captain, but neither had he deliberately mentioned it at any point. And Kirk’s response had been – somewhat subdued. It was entirely possible that the Captain was experiencing some level of illogical negative emotional reaction to the timing of Spock’s revelation. The thought should not have bothered him at all – he was not responsible for the illogic of humans – and yet, it did. 

He diverted his route back to his quarters and pressed the chime outside the Captain’s door. 

* 

‘Spock, what can I do for you?’ 

He stood somewhat awkwardly on the opposite side of Kirk’s desk. The Captain had not yet invited him to sit, so he did not. 

‘Captain, it has - occurred to me that, by human standards, I have been less than forthcoming with you with regard to my personal circumstances, specifically my half Vulcan, half human nature.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. Then frowned. ‘Did Bones speak to you?‘ He sighed. ‘Spock, when, if at all, you chose to tell me, or anyone else, about your genetic make-up is entirely up to you. He shouldn’t have said anything.’ 

‘The Doctor mentioned our conversation, but he did not imply I acted improperly, nor do I believe that I did.’ He paused, and added, ‘However, I would like to - ‘ 

Kirk waved a hand. ‘Spock, It’s really not - ‘ 

‘Captain, I did not deliberately conceal my nature from you, but nor did I volunteer the information. Doing so in the past has frequently evoked a negative reaction from both humans and my own people and I have become accustomed to - avoiding the subject. I apologise if my doing so in the case led you to believe that I did not deem you worthy of trust in this matter. Such is not the case.'

Kirk stared at him for a moment, then said, 'Spock, sit down. Are you saying you didn't mention it because you thought I might - react badly?'

'Knowing you as I do now, no. However, history has demonstrated that a certain level of caution is preferable when dealing with strangers. I - did not wish you to think less of me before we had become more closely acquainted.'

'Why on earth would I -? Spock, who the _hell_ has made you think you need to be ashamed of who you are?'

His first officer looked profoundly uncomfortable as he said, 'It has been represented to me on a number of occasions that I am too Vulcan to be generally acceptable to humans, and too human to be considered - fully Vulcan.'

Kirk's expression shuttered in a way that Spock recognised as his Captain trying to repress strong emotion. Kirk stood, came around the desk, and leaned against the side of it, near to Spock. After a moment, he said, with quiet intensity, 'Spock, you should be shouting your heritage from the rooftops. Announcing it on the bridge. You are the living embodiment of the best of both species and anyone who can't see that after five minutes in your company isn't worth your time.' 

Spock did not trust himself to respond to that statement.

Into the silence that followed, Kirk said, ‘Listen, I’ve got a meeting with Commander Darren now, but can I interest you in a game of chess later? Around twenty-one hundred hours?’ 

Spock opened his mouth to agree, then remembered. He said dully, ‘Captain, I will not be free at that time. I have – a personal call to make.’ 

Kirk said, ‘Oh. Okay. Another time then.’ 

* 

Spock was staring at the monitor in his quarters as the call connected. For a time, he had made these calls monthly. Then bi-monthly. They were now six months apart, and even that felt too much. But he could not shirk his duty in this. He had not stayed at her request, so he owed it to her to keep in touch. Be available. As far as his Starfleet duties allowed. And as he had last contacted her just before their start of their mission, he was now overdue. 

As the call went through, almost unconsciously, he straightened in his chair and ran a hand across his hair. All was as it should be. He tugged on his uniform tunic to straighten it. It would not matter. His appearance, it seemed, was never pleasing, and apparently he could do nothing to correct that fact. 

Her face appeared on his screen. ‘Live long and prosper, Spock.’ She never addressed him in Vulcan, always standard. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder why. 

Aloud he said, ‘Peace and long life, T’Pring.’ 

She regarded him coolly. He had long grown immune to her truly exceptional beauty, and had not, until this moment, realised why. Oddly enough, it was the man with whom he had recently finished speaking, who provided the contrast that elucidated the reason. Her beauty contained no warmth. James Kirk could not be described as beautiful, and yet, as Gary Mitchell had once said, people were drawn to him through his natural charm, charisma, and warmth. These were not qualities his betrothed possessed. He set the thought aside as disloyal and unhelpful. 

He said carefully, ‘I have been following the progress of your work at the Vulcan Science Academy. It appears to have met with great success.’ 

She said flatly, ‘Yes. My research is highly beneficial to our field of study, and uniformly praised.’ 

‘I had no doubt it would be. Your last paper was an excellent and erudite summary of most complex and important work.’ 

She lowered her head in acknowledgement, then said, reluctantly, ‘Your comments were of - some minor assistance.’ 

‘I am gratified to have been of some help.’ 

Into the silence that followed this remark, she said, perfunctorily, ‘I trust all is well on the – starship?’ 

Spock experienced a brief flash of mild irritation. He had served aboard the Enterprise for almost his entire Starfleet career, and she had never spoken its name without prompting. He knew her to be almost exceptionally intelligent with excellent recall, so her refusal to name his ship was – illogical. 

He said, ‘All is well, my betrothed. In fact, - I have been promoted. I now hold the rank of Commander, and am First Officer of the Enterprise.’ 

She said archly, ‘It is long past time for such an eventuality. It is a ship of humans, after all. Even as a half Vulcan, you would still be their intellectual superior.’ 

Spock closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, and said, ‘It is not always intellectual prowess that determines suitability for command positions on a starship.’ He thought of Kirk, and added, ‘My new Captain, for example, possesses both -’ 

T’Pring said abruptly, ‘Spock. There is something I wish to say.’ 

He stopped, ‘Of course. Please proceed.’ 

She looked him in the eye as she said, ‘You are thirty-three years of age. It is unusual for a Vulcan male to have reached such an age without experiencing the blood fever.’ 

Spock stared at her in shock. They had never before discussed - Spock felt his heart rate begin to climb, and tried to reset his physiological controls as he said, ‘It is not - unheard of - ‘ 

She swept on, ‘No, but it is rare, and the most likely conclusion is that your human half is negatively effecting the onset of pon farr. It is possible that you may not experience it at all.’ 

Spock’s breath caught in his throat. He said, thickly, ‘I - am _Vulcan_, I -’ 

‘You are _half_ Vulcan, and we have waited a long time. As such, I would like to request your immediate return, so that our bond can be completed and our marriage consummated.’ 

Spock stared at her in disbelief. His attempt to regulate his heartbeat had failed. The entire room seemed to have narrowed to her face on the small screen. He said, unsteadily, ‘Such a thing is not – we have agreed to observe the ancient ways of our people - ‘ 

T’Pring said coolly, ‘Certainly it would be a weak bond, but such things are not unheard of. It can be done. In the - absence - of the blood fever.’ 

In the silence, somewhere deep inside, Spock could hear the voices of his schoolmates. Freak. Half-breed. Human. Not Vulcan. Not real. The recollection lay below his conscious awareness, but coiled in his gut like poison. 

Aloud he said levelly, ‘It would be impossible at this time. I have just commenced a new five year mission under Captain Kirk. I cannot leave the ship until such time as leave is granted. And even then, we may be too far from Vulcan for me to return in the time allowed.’ 

T’Pring merely nodded, as if this was the answer she had expected. She said, ‘In which case, I would request that if your pon farr has not occurred in the next three years, and you are not prepared to return in that time, then our bond be dissolved.’ 

After a long moment, Spock said unsteadily, ‘Such a thing would be virtually unprecedented.’ 

She said, with a flash of irritation, ‘Our situation is unprecedented. You cannot expect me to wait forever. It is – unVulcan.’ 

Out of nowhere, he could hear his father’s voice. _ Such __stubborness __is __unVulcan__. This behaviour is not Vulcan. Not Vulcan. Not Vulcan. _

He said faintly, ‘Perhaps - you are correct. I have been – unreasonable. If I have not undergone the blood fever in three years, and not returned to Vulcan, I will - take any steps necessary to accede to your request.’ 

T’Pring looked mollified. ‘Thank you, my betrothed.’ 

When he did not reply, after a moment she added, with an air of detached curiosity, ‘What will you do if the blood fever comes when the starship is too far from Vulcan?’ 

Spock said, through a mouth gone dry, ‘The Captain will - divert the ship at my request.’ 

She arched an elegant eyebrow. ‘You have told him of our sacred rites?’ 

‘No. However, he – will understand. He will assist me.’ 

T’Pring looked sceptical. ‘I hope your faith in him proves justified, Spock. After all, he will hold your life in his hands.’ 

Spock said, clinging to his faith in a man he had known six months, ‘He will prove himself trustworthy.’ 

T’Pring had looked away from the screen, and an odd, almost smile had briefly appeared. When she looked back however, it was gone. She said, ‘I must terminate our communication. Live long and prosper, Spock.’ 

‘Peace and long life, T - ‘ Her image disappeared. 

Spock sat for a long moment, then reached across to deactivate the viewer. The hand that moved was not entirely steady. A part of him hoped that she was correct. That his human half would spare him the blood fever, the humiliating loss of control, of automony. But if it never came, surely the assertion that he was not truly Vulcan would be proven beyond all doubt. 

He was struggling to control the memories, the feelings that were churning below his conscious mind. Fear. Guilt. Failure. Rejection. Not adequate. Not enough. He needed to breathe. He needed to meditate, he needed - 

‘Captain Kirk to Commander Spock.’ 

The voice cut through like a lifeline. He fumbled for the comm switch, hitting it at the second attempt. ‘Spock here, Captain.’ 

‘Sorry to bother you, Spock, I know you said you were busy – can you talk now?’ 

‘Yes. Yes, I am free to talk. My call is completed.’ He experienced a moment of relief that Jim was not in the room. His voice was steady, but he doubted his countenance was so neutral. 

‘Great. It wasn’t important, but I’ve been meaning to ask – how is the temperature experiment going?’ 

‘Captain?’ 

‘I suggested a while back,’ Spock could hear the interest in Kirk’s voice, ‘- that you might want to up the temperature in your quarters, see if it improves your sleep, or anything? How’s that going?’ 

Oh. He thought back on the observations he had made. ‘It has been – surprisingly efficacious. Although my length of sleep is regulated by my internal chronometer and remains consistent, I believe I have qualitative evidence that the quality of it has improved over the last few months.’ 

‘Brilliant.’ He knew, without seeing him, that Kirk was smiling. His eyes fell again on the viewscreen. ‘Well, Mister Spock, I hereby authorise your minor personal drain on ship’s resources for the rest of our voyage. In the interests of keeping my first officer at maximum efficiency at all times, of course.’ 

‘Thank - thank you, Captain.’ His voice had wavered slightly. He heard it happen, and cursed his own lack of control. But perhaps Kirk hadn’t - 

‘Spock, you okay?’ 

‘Yes, Captain.’ That was better. 

‘Right.’ There was a moment of silence, then Kirk said, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your evening then.’ 

Spock said quickly, 'Jim - ‘ 

‘Still here, Spock.’ 

_ Would you like to play chess now? May I speak to you of a personal matter? _‘I will – see you on the bridge tomorrow.’ 

There was a pause before Kirk said, ‘You will.’ Then: ‘Goodnight, Spock.’ 

‘Goodnight, Captain.’ 

* 

_1402.7 / 5th November, 2265_

As they entered the turbolift, and the doors closed, Kirk made a noise of frustration and thumped his fist against the wall. ‘I do not _believe _that man. Wiving. _Wiving_. You can’t - order a wife. It’s the twenty-third century, for God’s sake. Who _arranges _marriages these days?’ 

Spock shifted uncomfortably. Oblivious, Kirk continued, ‘And then he has the goddamn _nerve _to tell _me _\- ‘ He broke off, and inhaled. ‘Dilithium. We just need the dilithium. That’s all. Then we can leave Mr Mudd to the authorities.’ He caught Spock’s eye. ‘Or, you know, drop kick him into the nearest nebula. I’ll see how I'm feeling at the time.’ 

Spock said neutrally, ‘There are no appropriate nebulae within a reasonable distance.’ 

‘Damn.’ 

After a moment, Spock said, ‘There is however, a likely binary star.’ He caught Kirk’s eye, and the Captain gave a sudden bark of laughter. 

Kirk leaned against the wall, took another deep breath. After a moment he said, ‘They don’t affect you at all, do they? The women?’ 

Spock said carefully, ‘I am aware of their influence; however a simple resetting of my physiological controls can neutralise their effect.’ 

Kirk huffed. ‘Well, whatever it is, Mister Spock, keep doing it. We need cool heads on this one.’ 

‘You appear largely unaffected, Captain.’ 

Kirk rolled his eyes. ‘The key word there, Mister Spock, is _appear_.’ He frowned. ‘But my lady needs dilithium, and dilithium she shall have, if I have to mine it from Rigel twelve with my bare hands.’ 

* 

_ 1511.5 / 20__th _ _ November, 2265 _

Harry Mudd was long gone, hopefully never to be seen again. Starship life had settled into a routine. Her Captain, however, was not satisfied. Across his desk, he said irritably to Spock, ‘it’s not good enough. I want all those simulations run again.’ 

Spock said, ‘There has been an improvement in the last three attempts.’ 

Kirk frowned at him. ‘Not good enough, Mister Spock. Not _nearly _good enough. You’re all about efficiency, let’s see you pass it on to the goddamn phaser crews. Not to mention engineering. There’s no point flying to the edge of known space if we’re going to be sitting ducks when we get there.’ 

‘The crew are establishing their working relationships. Testing the parameters of their new roles.’ 

Kirk threw his stylus down in frustration. ‘Well, they’re taking too bloody long about it. Yes, we had a new intake last week, but the rest of them are old hands. They need to up their game.’ 

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘There are eyes on us. First five-year mission. First deep space voyage. If we screw this up, it’s not just for us, it’s for everyone who should come after us. This is it. _This _is what Starfleet should be doing. What it’s about. Not patrolling the neutral zones. Not policing the goddamn galaxy. This. The frontier. The great unknown. _Exploration_.’ 

He took a breath, then continued, ‘But if we fail, the pen pushers at command will pull the plug. That’ll be it. No more extended voyages. No deep space exploration. No risk. And I'll be the Captain that killed it.’ 

Spock said, ‘I do not believe such will be your fate.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. ‘Fate, Mister Spock? That’s an awfully human concept.’ 

Before he could respond, the comm gave a whistle and announced, ‘Doctor McCoy to Captain Kirk.’ 

Kirk visibly winced. As he made no move to answer the hail, Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Kirk busied himself with the padd in front of him. After another moment the chime sounded again. ‘Doctor McCoy to Commander Spock.’ 

Kirk said quickly, ‘Tell him we’re really busy, and I can’t be disturbed. Or I’ve died.’ 

Spock flicked the comm switch on Kirk’s desk. ‘Yes, Doctor McCoy?’ 

‘Spock, have you seen Jim? He's late for his physical.’ 

Kirk looked hopefully at him. 

Spock said, ‘He is here, Doctor. I shall send him directly.’ And ended the call. 

Kirk was staring at him in disapproval. ‘Et tu, Spock?’ 

‘Doctor McCoy was most clear on the need for regular physicals to maintain good health amongst the crew.’ Spock said mildly. ‘As Captain, your health is paramount, and I am certain you will want to set a good example on this front.’ 

Kirk dragged himself upright with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Okay, fine. You get to the bridge; I’ll go and be ritually tortured by that sadist in the medical bay. But don’t think I’ll forget this, Mister Spock. Don’t be looking to me for sympathy when it's your turn.’ 

Spock said quite seriously, ‘I shall not, Captain.’ 

Kirk held his frown for another few seconds, then laughed. Rounding the desk and passing his first officer on the way to the door, he patted Spock’s back on the way past. As he got to the door, he said, ‘Keep an eye on Bailey for me. It’s his first bridge shift, he’s gonna be nervous, but I think he’s up to it.’ 

As the door closed behind his Captain, Spock sat for a moment in frozen surprise. He had not been expecting Kirk to touch him, and his shields had not been firmly in place. Kirk’s hand had touched his upper back, lightly ruffling his hair, and brushed his neck. The contact had been enough for him to feel Jim’s surface emotions, and the most obvious one in that moment had been - he struggled for a word - _fondness_. For Spock. Directed _at _Spock. It was unsettling and yet somehow – pleasing. He sat for a moment, staring at the chair that Jim had vacated. He had a friend. One who held him in genuinely high esteem. One who felt strong affection for him. It was - unexpected. 

He took a settling breath. He could not be held responsible for the emotions of a human. As a Vulcan, he could not return such affection. And yet.

And yet. 

He took another breath, and rose. This was a pointless line of speculation. 

He left the Captain’s quarters, and headed for the bridge. 

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on twitter now! Come say hi @Opheliaj12 xx


	4. The Price of the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set during and after the Corbomite Maneuver. 
> 
> Scenes set before and after Charlie X.
> 
> Scene set after The Man Trap.

_Stardate: 1513.1 / 22nd November, 2265_

The tension on the bridge was almost unbearable. Even Kirk sweated under it, using all of his considerable self-discipline to prevent the frustration and anger from showing on his face. If this was to be their end, it was unworthy and unjust, but he was about to die on the bridge of his ship. There were worse fates. He would have given every day of every year that would have remained to him to save his crew, but fate was not giving him that choice. 

Sulu’s voice said grimly, ‘Twenty seconds.’ The turbolift doors opened. Kirk glanced around. Bailey said stiffly, ‘Request permission to retake my post.’ Kirk eyed him evenly, took a moment, then said, ‘Permission granted, Mr Bailey.’ He couldn’t resist the brief flash of Captainly pride as Bailey resumed his seat. _I knew I was right about him. _

Sulu said, ‘Ten.’ 

Kirk gripped the sides of the command chair, raised his chin in defiance to the vewscreen’s starfield. 

‘Nine.’ 

Behind him, Scotty had moved to stand next to Uhura. He touched a light hand to her shoulder, and she seized it in one of hers. 

‘Eight.’ 

Next to the command chair McCoy reached an unsteady hand to the backrest and seized it, planting his feet firmly on the deck. Kirk thought, _ Steady as she goes, Doctor. _

‘Seven.’ 

He sensed movement to his right. Spock had stepped away from the science station, and come to stand next to his Captain. 

‘Six.’ 

Spock’s left hand drifted to the arm of the Captains’ chair, where Kirk’s right arm already rested. In his current state of hyper awareness, Kirk could feel the edge of Spock's fingers against the material of his tunic. 

‘Five.’ 

He moved his arm almost infinitesimally, so it rested full against the side of Spock’s hand where it lay on the side of his chair. He could feel the warmth of it through his body. 

‘Four.’ 

So small was the movement, Kirk didn’t feel it, but out of the corner of his eye, still fixed on the viewscreen, he saw Spock’s fingers shift slightly so that the very edge of the sleeve of Jim’s tunic was resting between them. 

‘Three.’ 

The silence on the bridge was absolute. 

‘Two.’ 

‘One.’ 

A second passed. And then another. Kirk’s lungs reminded him that breathing was still a necessity and he inhaled sharply. 

Beside him, Spock said, in a voice as calm as if he was announcing the weather, ‘An interesting game, this poker.’ His hand was back by his side. 

Kirk said evenly, ‘It does have advantages over chess.’ 

* 

That night, Kirk sank onto the edge of the bed in his quarters and lowered his head in his hands. After their farewell to Balok and Bailey, and a ferocious work out, the adrenaline was finally beginning to work its way out of his system. He felt exhausted, but sleep was clearly still a long way off. 

The door chime sounded. He raised his head, called tiredly, ‘Come in.’ He hoped this wasn’t going to take long, whatever it was. 

To his intense relief, the doors slid apart to reveal the regal form of his first officer. For a moment, he contemplated standing and moving, looking less exhausted and more, well, Captain-like, but something in Spock’s demeanour stopped him. 

He felt himself smile slightly as he said, ‘Good evening, Mister Spock.’ And then wondered when Spock had stopped being someone he needed to put a front up for at all times. 

Now, it seemed. 

For his part, Spock glanced around and located his commanding officer, evincing no reaction whatsoever to seeing him slightly slumped at the end of the bed. ‘Good evening, Captain.’ 

He moved past the lattice divide near Kirk’s desk and stood a little awkwardly. Kirk said, gesturing to the desk, ‘Take a seat.’ 

Spock did as instructed, pulling out the chair, turning it to face Kirk, and sitting down. 

‘What can I do for you, Mister Spock?’ 

Spock said carefully, ‘Given the events of the day, I have concluded that it would be advantageous to my future career development to – learn to play poker.’ 

Kirk stared at his first officer’s serious face for a long moment, then couldn’t suppress a huff of laughter. ‘And I'd be delighted to teach you. Not right now though – I don’t even have a deck of cards. Pretty sure Doctor McCoy does – I’ll ask him if I can borrow it.’ 

Spock inclined his head gracefully. ‘Thank you, Captain.’ 

Kirk said lightly, ‘I wouldn’t have thought Vulcans would embrace poker. All that – bluffing. Lying, effectively. Not very logical. I don’t think you’d catch a Vulcan commander pulling a stunt like that today.’ 

Spock said with certainty, ‘You would not.’ 

Kirk felt his sudden good mood begin to slip a little. Until Spock added, ‘And had the threat been real, a Vulcan Commander in that scenario would have seen his ship destroyed. Your actions were illogical and unorthodox but impressive and highly efficacious.’ 

Kirk couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, and lowered his head, rubbing at the tension in nape of his neck, in an attempt to disguise it. Reaching the rank of Captain meant, almost overnight, that praise was a rarity. His superiors were sufficiently distant that feedback was generally brief, and – more often than not, however effective his actions - focused on what he could have done better. As if he didn’t already know. And praise from Spock was probably more pleasing than it should have been. 

He said, slightly embarrassed, ‘Well, thank you, Mister Spock. Luckily, there wasn’t a real threat.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Damn well felt like one though.’ 

Spock said feelingly, ‘Indeed, Captain.’ 

Jim raised his eyebrows at his first officer and hid his smile. ‘It’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about such things.’ 

‘Captain?’ 

‘At times like that, it must be a relief not to have to deal with those pesky human emotions. Fear. Anger.’ 

Spock eyed him steadily. ‘It is a blessing, Captain.’ 

Jim thought of Spock’s hand, warm against his arm as Sulu had counted down to their destruction. He thought, _so that’s how __we play it. Noted__. _ He still couldn't stop the smile that curved his mouth as he held Spock’s gaze. ‘Well, I envy you. Took me an hour in the gym to work off that adrenaline.’ 

Spock said coolly, ‘Do not be concerned Captain, I shall endeavour at all times to compensate for any deficiency in performance brought about by your ‘pesky human emotions.’ 

Kirk stared at him for a moment, jaw dropped, then burst into laughter. ‘Well, I very much appreciate your consideration in that area, Mister Spock.’ 

The dark eyes across the desk were warm on his.

He said lightly, ‘I heard you mention your mother today. On the bridge. That’s twice in less than twenty-four hours.’ 

Spock said, ‘It was indicated to me that it is not – illogical – to be proud of one’s heritage.’ 

Kirk grinned. ‘Well, speaking for the human half of your heritage, Mister Spock, we’re proud of you right back.’ 

After a moment, Spock said, ‘I believe you exceed your authority in speaking for an entire race.’ 

Kirk raised his eyebrows, and assumed a serious tone. ‘Beg to differ. I’m a starship captain in deep space. Out here, I am imbued with the authority to speak on behalf of the entire Federation.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘So you’ll have to live with it.’ 

‘I - shall do so, Captain.’ 

Kirk's smile turned, suddenly and unexpectedly, into a yawn. Spock raised an eyebrow at him and Jim suppressed the desire to laugh again. ‘Sorry, Spock, looks like that adrenaline has worn off. I should turn in.’ 

Spock rose and said smoothly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your evening, Captain.’ 

He smiled up at his first officer. ‘Thanks, Spock. See you on the bridge tomorrow.’ 

‘Indeed.’ Spock inclined his head. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’ 

As the door closed, Kirk was already stripping off his uniform and throwing himself on the bed. Sleep came much sooner than expected. His last conscious thought was a mental note to ask Bones about that deck of cards. 

* 

_Stardate__: 1518.7 / 11am, _21__st ___November 2265_

Yeoman Janice Rand walked the corridors of deck 5, looking for the Captain’s quarters. Despite being on board for nearly three weeks, she had only just received her assignment to act as the Captain’s yeoman, and was slightly discombobulated by the orders in question. She understood the usefulness of the role – keep the Captain’s mind off the small things so he could focus on being the Captain – she just wasn’t expecting it to be assigned to _her._

It was traditional, although not actually mandated, that male captains were assigned a male yeoman, and female captains a female yeoman. And, well, Captain Kirk wasn’t female. Not even in a bad light, if you really squinted. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, quite handsome. And charismatic. Which was all fun to talk about with your fellow yeomen in the rec room of an evening, and in her shared quarters with Yeoman Kamara Carter. It was less amusing when you had to work with him directly. Every day. And had unfettered access to his quarters. She had, overnight, become something of a wet blanket in the ‘trading wistful comments about the attractiveness of one’s command team’ game. In that she no longer tolerated any talk of James Kirk’s relative attractiveness. Professionalism had to be maintained. Fortunately, Kamara, at least, had been easy to distract with an in-depth discussion as to the relationship potential of the ship’s only Vulcan officer. 

Rand came to a halt outside the quarters labelled_ Captain James T. Kirk_ and stared at the sign. She needed to familiarize herself with how the Captain liked things done. The layout of his quarters, where he kept his uniforms, what he liked to eat, where he liked his reports left, how often he needed new data recording slides, and so forth. Some of those questions she couldn’t answer without the Captain himself present, but some could be answered with a quick look around his quarters. Which she theoretically had access to at any time. And had time to look at now before her ops shift started. She knew it was her job, but it still felt a little – invasive. 

But the Captain, according to the computer, was on the bridge. And it would hardly be appropriate to call the bridge to ask if she could have a look around his quarters. No, this was her role now, and she had to be – brave about it. He would surely tell her if she overstepped any boundaries. With that less than cheering thought in mind, she touched the access panel, and the doors slid open. 

The Captain’s quarters, as it turned out, were reassuringly underwhelming. About the same size as her own, even with her shared quarters, but still fairly roomy by starship standards. It was apparent right away that the Captain wasn’t one for homely knickknacks. In fact, at a quick glance, she couldn’t see anything at all that wasn’t Starfleet issue, which to Rand’s way of thinking was – a little sad. Still, you didn’t get to be the youngest Captain in the fleet without being at least a little career focused. The only obviously out of place item was a chessboard, which judging from the engraving along one of the struts, was actually Vulcan in origin. So probably belonged to Commander Spock. According to Kamara, who’d come on board with the same intake of new personnel as the Captain, he and Commander Spock had played chess regularly in the rec room at the start of the voyage. Until they’d stopped. 

Well apparently, they hadn’t stopped. Just relocated. Even with Rand’s less than expert grasp of 3D chess, it was clear that this was a game in progress. Well, that’s good, she thought, and mentally ticked ‘Ensure the Captain undertakes regular leisure activity’, off her mental list. Turning to the desk, she frowned slightly. That was – a lot of data discs and padds. No wonder the Captain had given in to command’s pressure to have a yeoman. There was no sign of any food, even though it was lunchtime, and the Captain wasn’t in the habit of eating regularly in the rec room. She made a mental note to speak to Doctor McCoy about the Captain’s eating habits and dietary requirements. 

She had begun to sort through the data discs on the desk with a view to asking the Captain how he would like these stored when a buzzing sound that she had assumed to be part of the ship’s ambient background noise, suddenly called itself to her attention by stopping. She frowned and looked up. Into the loud silence that followed its absence, another noise began. A distinct, and quite masculine, humming. She staring in dawning horror at the closed door to the quarter’s small bathroom. He’d been on the _bridge_. But she had taken quite a long time to find his quarters, having first been directed to deck twelve, it was enough time for him to have – she dropped the discs back on the desk, and headed for the door. This could definitely wait until - 

The door to the bathroom opened, and James Kirk stepped out, still humming. He’d clearly been in the sonic shower, and had grabbed a towel, more out of habit than necessity. He was in process of slinging that towel around his waist, but the process wasn’t fast enough for Rand’s retinas to avoid being permanently burned with the knowledge that James Kirk was a fine specimen of humanity, however you looked at it, and this was the worst first day of any job she’d ever had and maybe if she dropped dead of embarrassment right now, she’d avoid having to speak to him ever again. 

He’d stopped humming. And damn, but his reaction times were fast. He’d wrapped the towel and reached for his waist – presumably where a phaser would sit – before she had a chance to fully rivet her eyes to the deck. 

His voice was astonishingly calm as he said, ‘I think you have the wrong quarters, Yeoman.’ 

She said, awkwardly, ‘No, sir, I'm really _very _sorry, I thought you were on the bridge. I’m, er, I’m _your _yeoman. I was assigned today, and I thought I’d come straight away and see if there was anything I - needed to do.’ 

There was a long silence. Then he said, icily, ‘Wait. There.’ 

Eyes still fixed on the deck, Rand heard a drawer open and close, then the bathroom door close again. She stood, cursing the deck’s unwillingness to open and swallow her, and wondered if she’d ever get a starship assignment again, or if she’d be tied to a desk in some basement office at the loneliest Starfleet outpost in the galaxy for the rest of her days. 

Then the bathroom door opened, and her peripheral vision informed her that he was now – thank god – wearing trousers at least. Although he was still barefoot. 

His voice said, ‘Okay, Yeoman. Let’s start this again. What are you doing in my quarters?’ 

She risked a glance upwards, and then straightened in relief. He was wearing uniform trousers and a tunic and the sight was instantly less intimidating than the previous one had been. Uniforms, she could definitely handle. 

‘Yeoman Rand, sir,’ she said quickly. ‘I received notification from Starfleet yesterday that I’d been assigned to you. They were concerned that you hadn’t had a Yeoman so far, and that you needed immediate assistance. When I didn’t hear from you I thought I should see if you needed anything doing straight away.’ She added, a little defensively, ‘I did ask the computer, sir, it said you were on the bridge. I wasn’t planning to disturb you.’ 

‘I was on the bridge. We had an – interesting landing party this morning. I had a run in with a mud slide. Gave Commander Spock the conn whilst I cleaned off.’ He frowned. ‘I had a notification from Starfleet too.’ He leaned over the desk and switched the monitor on, ‘I thought it said - ‘ his eyes flicked over the screen as he read quickly, ‘I was getting a _Jon_.’ 

‘Oh, no, sir. It’s Jan, sir, on my record but I prefer Janice, actually. You must’ve -' the words ‘misread it’ hovered in the air, but after a glance at his face, she didn’t say them. 

He said, darkly, 'I see.’ 

She swallowed. 

He stood. ‘I need to get back to the bridge. Do whatever you came to do, Yeoman.’ He added, with obvious reluctance, ‘You can come and go as you need to during my duty hours, but off duty, I don’t want to see you in here, understood?’ 

His tone was sharp and she suppressed a wince. ‘Understood, sir.’ 

He walked towards the door, and she said, ‘Sir?’ 

_‘What_, Yeoman?’ 

She bit her lip, and nodded towards his feet. He looked down, said something vehement under his breath she was glad not to hear, stalked to his closet, grabbed boots, shoved them on, and walked out. 

Janice Rand sank slowly into the visitor’s chair of his desk. The only silver lining she could possibly see was that her relationship with Captain James Kirk was unlikely to get any worse. 

* 

_Stardate: 1521.4 / 8pm, 21st November 2265 _

‘All in all, Jim, the crew’s in good shape, physically and mentally. Actually somewhat above what I'd expect for this point in long haul voyage.’ 

‘That’s good news, Doctor.’ Kirk scrutinized the padd in front of him. 

Behind him, the door to McCoy's office opened. 

McCoy said, ‘Something you need, Yeoman?’ 

Behind Kirk, the voice of Janice Rand said, ‘Er, no, thank you, Doctor. I’ll come back.’ 

Kirk looked up in irritation. 

McCoy’s eyes slid from her to Kirk, then back. He said, ‘Don’t worry Yeoman, we’d finished. I’ll kick the Captain here out, and you can-‘ 

He heard her take a deep breath. ‘Actually Doctor, it was about Captain Kirk. Specifically, his dietary requirements. I’ve noticed he doesn’t have a specific programme allocated for him in the ship’s galley rota.’ 

McCoy raised his eyebrows. ‘Well he should have. I assigned it myself.’ He looked at Kirk, who met his gaze only briefly before looking down at his padd. 

Rand said, ‘Well I’d appreciate a copy, Doctor, so that I can ensure that Captain Kirk sticks to it.’ 

Kirk turned, said pointedly, ‘I’m right here, Yeoman.’ 

She met his eyes steadily. ‘I see that, sir. Was there anything you needed?’ 

Kirk gritted, ‘Not right now, Yeoman, thank you.’ He turned back to McCoy. 

She said, ‘Yes sir. Thank you, Doctor.’ 

McCoy watched her go, a slow grin spreading over his face. 

Kirk looked at him. ‘Don’t.’ 

_‘That’s _your yeoman?’ 

‘Don’t even - ‘ 

‘Well, she’s ... feisty. And seems smart. And – .’ 

‘Stop talking, right now.’ 

‘And she’s - quite your type really, isn’t she?’ 

‘Shut _up_, Bones. Don’t make me order you.’ 

‘I mean, if you’d met her in a bar - ‘ 

_‘Bones!_ She’s a member of my crew. And a professional. As am I. So do me a favour, and don’t even joke about it.’ 

‘The doctor nodded. ‘Okay, sorry.’ 

Then: ‘But five_ years_, Jim.’ 

Kirk groaned. ‘That’s it. You’re fired. Get off at the next stop.’ 

The doctor made a derisive noise. ‘I wish. And I like her. Anyone who is willing to stand up to you over your dietary habits has a friend in me.’ 

‘Well, she doesn’t have one in me.’ 

‘Oh, stand down, Jim, she’s a practically a kid, and just trying to make the best of a tough spot.’ 

Kirk stared at him. ‘A tough spot?’ 

‘She’s _your _yeoman. I wouldn’t want the job. You like to keep this aura of the invincible commander all the time, and if she hangs around, she might get a glimpse of the man, and that wouldn’t do, would it? God knows the great and wonderful Captain Kirk can’t have any flaws.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s fair.’ 

McCoy snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. 

Kirk looked around to check the office door had definitely closed, then said, with reluctant humour, ‘Actually, she’s already had a glimpse of the man, and we were both suitably horrified by the experience.’ 

‘Jim, what the hell are you on about?’ 

Kirk related his first meeting with Rand, and even managed a weak smile when McCoy had to make an effort to breathe around his laughter. ‘Well, I’m glad someone found it funny.’ 

McCoy said, around subsiding mirth, ‘Oh that poor girl.’ 

‘Her? What about _me_? Innocently walking around my own quarters, minding my business -’ 

‘You? Innocent?’ McCoy scoffed. ‘Jim, you haven’t been innocent in years. Ever since that, god what was her name, you get moon eyes when you talk about her - ‘ 

‘Her name,’ Kirk said archly, ‘was_ Ruth_, and I do not - ‘ 

‘Yeah, y’do.’ McCoy waved a hand. ‘Anyway, point is, cut that poor woman some slack. Be Captain Friendly-Uncle-Jim, not Captain Fire-breathing-martinet.’ 

Kirk said, ‘When I get hold of the pen pusher at headquarters – ‘ He caught McCoy's eye, and sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll take it under advisement, Doctor.’ 

* 

Uhura followed Spock along the corridor towards his quarters. ‘This is terribly kind of you, Commander. It’s so difficult to get hold of Vulcan texts off-planet.’ 

They'd been running over some intricacies of the Vulcan language in the rec room. Uhura had been feeling she’d acquitted herself quite well, until Lieutenant Farrell's birthday party had arrived, and the ensuing noise had prevented her hearing the finer detail that Spock was attempting to convey. 

Spock had offered to lend her a book that would elucidate some of his points and she hurried to keep up with his long stride as they neared his quarters. As the doors opened, he said, ‘No thanks are necessary, Lieutenant. It is gratifying to hear my language spoken by an enthusiastic and able student.’ 

She smiled in pleasure, and hovered by the door as he moved to a bookshelf across the room. 

He called back, ‘Please come in, Lieutenant, whilst I locate an appropriate text.’ 

It would have been an utter lie to say she wasn’t more than a little curious to see Commander Spock’s quarters, so she stepped across the threshold with alacrity. 

The first thing that struck her was the lighting – significantly less harsh than that of the corridor outside- and the temperature, a few degrees warmer than the rest of the ship. She wondered if both things reflected Vulcan, and mentally renewed her vow to visit one day. As Spock reviewed the books on his shelf, she gazed around. 

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting, but it had involved strict functionality and very logical arrangements of items. What met her eyes was almost – homely. Apart from the shelves containing books – of which there were many, both in standard and Vulcan, technical manuals, and literature and some she couldn’t guess at – there were other shelves of imagery that she vaguely recognised, again reflecting both Vulcan and Earth. 

There was a beautifully woven rug near one wall, and next to it was hung a dark robe which looked to be made of an incredibly soft, tactile material. The covers on the bed were likewise not Starfleet issue, far too rich and elegant. Uhura thought she wouldn't have guessed in a million years that their resident Vulcan officer was quite so quietly hedonistic. His quarters almost matched her own for comfort. She felt herself growing fonder of him even as she stood there. 

As he turned towards her, book in hand, her eyes fell on another item, and she gasped in pleased surprise. 

‘Mister Spock, do you play?’ 

He followed her gaze to the Vulcan lyre leaning against a stand near the desk. 

‘Yes, Lieutenant.’ 

‘Where do you play? I’d love to hear you.’ 

He blinked in contained surprise. ‘I - do not habitually play in public.’ 

She turned a pleading gaze on him. ‘Oh you should! I'd bet you play beautifully, and I’m sure I’m not the only who’d like to hear you.’ 

He began, ‘I am not cer-' 

She said, with winning enthusiasm, ‘Come to the rec room and play for us tomorrow evening. Oh! Maybe I could sing with you.’ She beamed at him and, against his better instincts, Spock heard himself say, ‘I will consider it, Lieutenant.’ 

She said, as if he’d agreed with enthusiasm, 'That will be wonderful, Mister Spock.’ 

*

_Stardate__: 1533.7 / 23rd__November 2265 _

‘Yeoman.’ 

Janice Rand looked up at Kirk’s voice from where she was retrieving a signed padd and tray from his desk. 

‘Sorry, sir, I’m done now. I’ll get out of your way.’ She swept up the padd and tray, and moved past him to leave. 

As she reached the door, he said, ‘Yeoman. I didn’t take seriously your concerns regarding Charlie quickly enough. Yesterday could have gone differently if I had. I won’t make that mistake again.’ 

She had turned to look at him as he spoke, but now dropped her gaze, and looked miserably at the edge of his desk. He said, more gently, ‘You did well, Yeoman. Tomorrow will be better.’ 

She nodded. 

He pointed at the tray. ‘Whilst you’re here - was that - really a McCoy sanctioned meal?’ 

She looked up, immediately concerned. ‘Was there something wrong with it, Captain?’ 

‘Well, yes. It was - palatable. And not rabbit food.’ 

She smiled, small but distinct. ‘Ah. Well, it was _mostly_ Doctor- sanctioned, Captain, yes.’ 

‘Mostly?’ He raised an eyebrow. 

She said, ‘I may have – embellished somewhat on the doctor’s suggestions, based on your previous self-selected meals. The basic nutritional value remains almost the same, so I - er - didn’t see the need to mention it to the doctor.’ 

Kirk said hastily, ‘Very wise, Yeoman. I think we should stick to your - very sensible alterations. And as you say, no need to mention it to Doctor McCoy.’ 

‘No, Captain.’ She was genuinely smiling now. 

‘Goodnight Yeoman.’ 

‘Goodnight, sir.’ 

As the door closed behind her, Kirk thought for the first time that having Rand as a yeoman might not be as terrible an idea as he’d first imagined. 

* 

_Stardate: 1558.4 / 26th November 2265_

McCoy looked up at the second door chime, and sighed. On the third, he said, 'Alright! Come in.'

The doors slid apart to reveal the Enterprise's Captain, and McCoy frowned. 'I thought tonight was chess night?'

Kirk came over to the desk. 'Well, it's not set in stone. And Spock's in the lab anyway. I tried to interest him in -' he raised the bottle in his hand, '- but no dice.'

McCoy stared at the bottle. 'What is it?'

Kirk sat, and placed the bottle ceremoniously on the table. '_This_ is Scotty's finest.'

'McCoy raised an eyebrow. 'Please tell me you just walked into engineering and demanded the produce of the illegal still because in that case I'm going to need to look out the security footage of Scotty's face.'

Kirk smiled. 'Not quite. I had to be a little more circumspect. Plausible deniability is intact on both sides.' He poured them both a drink and pushed one across the table.

McCoy said desultorily, 'Good to know.'

They sat in silence for a while, neither drinking, before Jim said, 'I'm sorry, Len. About today.'

McCoy nodded, said roughly. 'Not your fault. It was over before we arrived.' He picked up his drink, said in choked voice, 'She'd been dead for years. I didn't even know.' 

Jim said, 'That wasn't your fault.'

McCoy said, 'Today _was_. Jim, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. We lost three good men. If it wasn't for Spock, we might have lost you. I - I let you down. I-' His voice broke. 

Kirk was shaking his head. 'Nonsense. You've never let me down, Bones.' He reached across the desk and squeezed his CMO's arm. 'You got your head turned by someone you once cared for a great deal. That could have been any of us. God knows how I'd react if we beamed down to a planet and it was Ruth, or Carol. We've all got someone like that in our past.'

McCoy swallowed, and nodded.

They both drank, then coughed in unison. 

Kirk cleared his throat, said, 'Well, it's better than the last batch I tasted.'

McCoy said, 'Should be. I had a word after last time. I had to keep two Ensigns under observation overnight.'

'Do I want to know who?'

McCoy said, with something of his usual spirit, 'No, and I wouldn't tell you anyway.' 

Kirk smiled behind his glass. 'Fair enough.' 

He watched McCoy watch the liquid swirl in his glass. He said, 'You gonna be okay?'

McCoy gave him a weak smile. 'Yeah. 'Course.' He added bitterly, 'I've been through worse. Adele leaving and taking Jo is still number one. No alien shape shifters going to top that.' 

Kirk's eyes fell on the picture of Joanna McCoy on her father's desk. 'How's she doing?'

'Good. Really good. She's smart, like her momma. Asks after you. Wants you to come to her seventeenth.' 

Kirk stared, 'She's _sixteen_?! When did that happen?.'

McCoy snorted. 'I know. It's ridiculous. Keep expecting her to answer the comm in pigtails.' He paused, then said carefully, 'Do you - ever hear from Carol?'

Kirk said abruptly, 'No.' He sipped his drink, then stared miserably at the liquid. 'He'll be four soon.' 

'Sorry, Jim. That's- tough.'

Kirk swallowed, said, 'Spock taught me a Vulcan word the other day: _Kaiidth_. What is, is. Teaches acceptance. I'm trying to apply to relevant areas of my life.'

McCoy let out a huff of laughter. 'That's the least Jim Kirk word I've ever heard. Acceptance.' He snorted. 'On the day you die, maybe.' 

Kirk managed a smile. 'Okay, but it doesn't mean I shouldn't make the effort. We could all stand to be a bit more Vulcan sometimes.'

McCoy made a non-committal humming noise, then said, 'I wonder '- he broke off. 

'What?'

'What you said before. We've all got someone like that in our past. I've got Nancy, and Adele. You've got Carol, and Ruth. I was wondering who Spock's lost loves are? If he even has any.'

Kirk said, looking suddenly discomfited, 'I - guess he must do. Everyone's got someone.'

McCoy looked sceptical. 'I'm not so sure. I can't picture Spock leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him, he's far too - logical for that.'

'Well, he must have had - someone.' Kirk finished his drink. 'I mean, he's a catch by any standards. And, yeah, I can't imagine him sleeping around but he wouldn't need to. He'd just need to turn up and be himself. I'm surprised he's not beating them off with a stick every time we've got leave.'

McCoy looked at him oddly for a moment, then a thought occurred to him and he grinned. 'Speaking of people throwing themselves at our favorite green blooded crew member, have you seen that rec room footage from last week?'

Kirk frowned. 'No, what?'

'Someone from security caught it and sent it 'round. Uhura persuaded Spock to play in the rec room, and made up a song about him.'

'Wait, what? Persuaded Spock to play what? And Uhura _sings_?!'

McCoy reached for his desk monitor. 'The lyre, apparently, and yes, of course she does, everyone knows that. Honestly Jim, get off the bridge or out of your quarters occasionally.'

'I'm the _Captain_,' Kirk muttered defensively, 'Might as well have 'hideous killjoy' tattooed on my forehead. No-one tells me anything, except you.'

McCoy turned the screen so Kirk could see it. 'Here. Watch this.'

Uhura's voice came clearly over the small speakers. 'Oh, on the starship Enterprise -' 

Kirk watched in mounting astonishment. A few things called themselves to his attention immediately. Firstly, Uhura had hidden vocal talents that were wasted hailing people on the ship all day. Secondly, Spock was _really good_ at an instrument that Kirk hadn't even known he owned. Thirdly, whilst no stick beating was necessary, there were more than a few admiring glances being thrown his first officer's way. Spock himself seemed oblivious, looking only at Uhura as she sang, or at his instrument. He was moving gently in time with the music, and had a look of easy, relaxed focus that JIm had never seen before, and suddenly wanted to see again. Then, as Uhura turned her playful flirting his way, he almost smiled. Kirk watched in bemused fascination. 

The song came to an end, and McCoy laughed. 'You've got to hand it to Uhura, that was pretty good, off the cuff.'

Kirk roused himself. 'Yeah. I should get her to sing some of our announcements. It would certainly liven things up.' 

*

_Stardate: 1572.2 / 28th November 2265 _

When alpha shift ended, Kirk stood, moved to the turbolift, and left without a word. Spock watched him go with concern. His Captain had been - preoccupied all day. His job performance had not been impaired - he had negotiated skillfully with the traders they had encountered, reviewed and corrected numerous reports, overseen three security drills, and reacted with what Spock felt had been a deeply felt level of compassion to the news of Commander Darren's recent bereavement. 

But he was, Spock thought - to utilise an odd human expression his mother had frequently employed - not himself. And he had cried off their evening chess game muttering something about reports and 'fleet command. it was an excuse that would have worked on anyone else other than his first officer, who, due to the closeness in their working relationship, was well aware that there was nothing due to command for another three days. 

He returned to his quarters thoughtfully. His usual approach - one that had frequently worked with human colleagues in the past - was to ignore it. Humans were often illogical, and emotional, and given time would regularly work through whatever issue was concerning them without outside intervention, and return to their usual demeanour within short order. 

But Jim was - different. Illogical though he frequently was, it rarely manifested as an alteration to his usual, upbeat mood. And when his mood was changed, Spock was almost always able to identify the reason for the change. On this occasion however, he was at a loss. And that was - troubling. 

It was not to do with their working life, he was sure. Jim had been cheerful yesterday. And nothing had happened on the ship of sufficient significance in the last twenty-four hours to effect the Captain's mood. Therefore the issue was personal. It was also, therefore, strictly speaking, none of the business of the Enterprise's first officer. 

However, it _was_ the business of the ship's first officer to support the Captain in all things. And without knowing the reason for his Captain's current low mood, he could not seek to rectify it, or provide adequate support. He would not know how deep the malaise ran, or if his Captain was suffering. And that was unacceptable. 

He considered for a while longer, then stepped along the corridor to the Captain's quarters. He entered at the summons, and looked around. 

Kirk was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, in a dark coloured, plain shirt and loose trousers. He was barefoot, feet flat against the surface of the bed, knees bent up and his arms resting atop them. He was holding a glass lightly in both hands, which even from this distance Spock's olfactory senses could recognise as strongly alcoholic. 

'Hey Spock.' He shot him a smile which Spock immediately recognised as one of the Captain's diplomatic expressions. His concern increased. 'Any, er - any chance this can wait until tomorrow? I was thinking I might turn in early.' 

'I am not here on ship's business.'

'Oh.' Kirk blinked. 'Well in that case, and with the caveat that it's always great to see you, what are you doing here, and could we make it quick?'

Spock walked past the lattice divider, and towards the bed. He gestured towards the empty end of it. 'May I?'

Kirk looked amused, then sighed. 'Sure. Go ahead.'

Spock sat. 

Kirk looked at him. 'You know, I thought I'd done pretty well. Good negotiation, got my reports signed off, fair assessment on those drills, even a pretty reasonable excuse to miss our chess game. And yet, here you are.'

He took a sip of his drink and swallowed. 'So, where did I go wrong, Mister Spock? Bit short with the merchants? Miss something in the reports? Not strict enough on the drills?' 

Spock blinked. 'No, Captain. Your performance was, as ever, exemplary. However, if I might venture to make an observation somewhat out of my area of expertise, you have appeared today to be - and still appear to be -unhappy.' 

Kirk looked at him sharply, 'Concerned that my emotional state might start to impact my performance?'

Spock said evenly, 'Although I have often observed that to be the case in humans, it is rarely so with you, and it was not so today. You are valuable beyond your inestimable worth to this ship and the crew as their Captain, simply as yourself. And you deserve consideration as such. I am speaking to you as - a friend.' 

Kirk looked at him for a long moment, then his gaze softened. There was something sad in his expression as he said quietly, ‘Honestly, Spock - sometimes I wish I was half the man you seem to think I am.’ 

‘In what way do you believe I have overestimated you, Captain?’ 

He quirked a half smile. ‘Spock, I’m off duty. Out of uniform. Do I have to ask you to call me Jim again?’ 

‘My apologies. Jim.’ 

Kirk drained his glass, and placed it down beside him.

After a few moments, he said, ‘When Charlie left. We were talking about what we could have done differently and I said - something about not having been a positive father figure for him, and you said -' he took a breath '- you said - you thought I’d make a good father. I should have told you then - you were wrong about that.’

He reached for the bottle, poured another drink, placed it down again. ‘You see, I - I have a son. It's his birthday today. He's four. I haven't seen him since he was six months old.’ He met Spock’s gaze briefly, then looked away. He continued bitterly, ‘You see? By anyone's standards, that’s not – father of the year.’ 

Into the silence that followed, Spock said quietly, and the question was oddly weighted, ‘Is it your choice that you do not see your son?’ 

Kirk said reluctantly, ‘Yes.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘No. I mean, if I had the choice, I’d see him. I’d always want to know what was happening with him. I’d want to tell him about what I do. But I can’t. I promised his mother.'

He took a deep breath. ‘When we found out that she was pregnant Carol said that I could choose. Leave Starfleet and be with her and David as a family, or stay in Starfleet and have nothing to do with either of them. So: yeah. It was my choice. There are other jobs. I could have stayed on at the Academy, lectured cadets. I could have captained a merchant ship. Less risk.’ He stopped, swallowed another sip of his drink, stared unseeing at the glass. 

‘But I wanted this.' He gestured to the ship around them. 'I wanted_ this_. I’ve wanted it since I was a kid. I couldn't imagine life without it. But I could imagine - a life without them. So, I chose.’ 

After a moment, Spock said carefully, ‘That was not a true choice. You would not have flourished in that other life.’ 

Jim said, ‘It wasn’t just about what I wanted. I was scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d end up resenting her. Resenting him.’ 

Spock said, protectively, ‘That was not a choice with which you should have ever been presented.’ 

Kirk shook his head. ‘Don't blame Carol. Her father and her older brother were in the ‘fleet. When she was a kid they were both killed. Within a year of each other. She didn’t want David to go through anything like that. I - I understood. I didn't like it, but I understood. I _understand_. It's just - hard, being on this side of it.’ 

Kirk stopped again. Swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘When I was a kid I used to sleep out in the barn some nights. There was this huge skylight. I’d lie there and look up the stars and I just -_ knew_. One day I’d be out there, with my own ship. It felt like – destiny somehow.’ 

He gave a half embarrassed, rueful smile. ‘That’s probably a bit too fanciful a concept for Vulcans.’ 

Spock put his head on one side, considering. ‘We have a similar idea - _buk_. It perhaps lacks the metaphysical element of the human concept, but it embraces the notion that any young person is liable to demonstrate a predisposition for a particular area of skilled endeavor. It would have been obvious even at a relatively young age that this was the path for which you were most suited. If the term you wish to use for that is destiny then I believe it would be – sufficiently accurate.’   
  
Kirk gave him a half smile. After a while, he said thickly, ‘I think about him, you know. What things he likes. What he's doing. If he ever looks up at the stars and – wonders.’ 

Spock said gently, ‘Jim. I stand by my original statement. For all that you have been effectively denied the opportunity to demonstrate it, I still believe that you would have been a good father. Indeed, it could be argued that in acquiescing to the wishes of his mother in this way, that you are a good father.’ 

Kirk absorbed this in silence. After a moment he cleared his throat. ‘Spock, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your good opinion of me, but by God, I’m going to try and keep it.’ 

Silence fell again. Kirk refilled his drink. Looked across at his science officer, who appeared to be deep in thought. After a moment, Spock said slowly, ‘Relationships within families, particularly fathers and sons, can be - difficult even in the best of circumstances, and those you have described - are not the best of circumstances.’ 

Jim’s vague instinct that the subject of this conversation had not entirely been himself and David, solidified immediately. He sipped his drink, and waited, feeling oddly unburdened, and watching his science officer. 

Some little time went by before Spock shifted uneasily, and then said quietly, ‘I have not spoken to my own father in 18 years. We – are estranged.’ 

Kirk stared at him. Whatever he’d been expecting, that hadn’t been it. ‘What? _Why_?’ 

‘He did not - He _does _not - approve of my leaving Vulcan for Starfleet Academy.’ 

‘You -’ Kirk gaped at him in disbelief, ‘And he’s held that over you for _eighteen years_?’ 

‘I defied his expressly stated wishes on the subject. It was – important to him that I enrolled at the Vulcan Science Academy. On Vulcan, children are expected to obey the wishes of their parents due to their greater wisdom. To do otherwise is thought - illogical.’ 

Kirk said with certainty, 'Spock, holding that against you for eighteen years is what’s _illogical_.’ 

Spock didn’t reply, so Kirk continued, ‘But surely, I mean - you’ve made such a success of your career. I _know _you’ve had papers published by the VSA. I’ve read them. Well, those I understood. Surely, now -’ 

‘I do not believe it is – sufficient.’ Spock’s face was shuttered. 

‘Damn.’ Kirk shook his head. ‘I can’t - I can’t imagine that. If David grew up to be half the man that you are – I'd be so proud, I’d burst. I’d want to tell the whole damn galaxy.’ 

Spock looked away, said, unsteadily, ‘That is - not the Vulcan way.’ 

Jim watched him for a moment, then said gently, ‘Spock. Tell me if this is none of my business, but - why did you leave Vulcan?’ 

Spock looked at him. 

Kirk said, ‘Why the Academy? That was - a _hell_ of thing to do. Leaving your planet. Leaving your family. Being the first Vulcan in Starfleet. Especially when it was all against your father’s wishes.’ 

Spock seemed about to speak, then he looked down at the bed between them. When he looked up again, it was directly into Kirk’s eyes. 

He said quietly, ‘I, too, looked to the stars, Jim.‘ 

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woke up this morning convinced I was going to delete this fic entirely. RL is too much at the moment for me to really do it justice. Couldn't bring myself to do it though, because I've written nearly 50k of later chapters in this and I'm a bit proud of some of it (not much, but some, lol), so I do want to get there. 
> 
> But I am going to move forward faster and start missing out eps, so stick with it if you're finding the pace a bit glacial!
> 
> Up next: it's Christmas on the Enterprise, there's a party going on, and everyone is having fun. Except the Captain. 
> 
> (Anyone else curious to hear about the Christmas party that Kirk is really super awkward about in Dagger of the Mind? Yeah, me too.)


	5. The Enemies Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set before and after 'The Enemy Within'.
> 
> Scenes set during and after 'The Naked Time'.

_ Stardate__: 1577.1 / 29__th _ _ November 2265 _

“Hold on. Stardates seventeen forty-five to seventeen fifty-nine? That’s - twenty-second to twenty-fourth December, roughly, Earth calendar?” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“You want leave to go to a conference that’s on from twenty-second to twenty-fourth of December?” 

“With two day’s travel either side. Yes, Captain.” 

“That’s - that’s Christmas, Spock.” 

“On Earth, Captain. The conference is on Starbase thirty-two. It is a highly prestigious conference, hosted by the Vulcan Science Academy. It is an honor to be invited to speak.” 

“Well yes, I’m sure it is. I mean, that’s great, Spock. That’s great for you.” 

“It would also be advantageous for the ‘fleet to have representation there.” 

“Right. Yes. Of course, it would. Of course, you can go. I hope the VSA realize how lucky they are to have you.” 

“Thank you, Captain. I apologize for interrupting your workout.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

* 

_ Stardate__: 1583.4 / 30__th _ _ November 2265 _

Christine Chapel stared in consternation at the corridor in front of her. Why did every corridor on this ship look the same? This was definitely deck seven, so where was sickbay? Shouldn’t it be signed, at least? 

A voice behind her said gently, “Can I help?” 

She turned to find a kindly-looking human woman in an operations uniform smiling at her. 

“Oh yes, thank you – I know it’s ridiculous but - I’m lost. I’m new today and I’m trying to find sickbay.” 

The other woman’s smile widened. “It’s not ridiculous at all. On my first day, I couldn’t find the _bridge_.” She stuck out a hand. “Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Communications.” 

Chapel shook the offered hand, smiling at her in relief. “Nurse Christine Chapel, Medical. Well, assuming I ever find sickbay.” 

Uhura laughed. “It’s not far. Come on, I’ll walk you.” 

“That’s very kind Lieutenant, thank you, but I don’t want to put you out.” 

“You aren’t, it’s no trouble at all. And call me Nyota.” The two women fell into step. 

“Oh, well, then you must call me Christine.” 

As they walked, Uhura said, with mild curiosity, “I thought we had all our crew by now.” 

Chapel looked a little embarrassed. “Officially, you do. I’m something of a last-minute addition – I volunteered.” 

Uhura raised her eyebrows. “I definitely didn’t think we took volunteers. If I’d known that, I’d’ve been on a starship at thirteen.” 

It was Christine’s turn to laugh. “Well, it’s a long story, but I needed to join a ship that was coming out this far. I'm looking for my fiancée.” 

Uhura’s eyes widened. “And that sounds like a story I’d like to hear.” She gestured down the corridor they’d just turned into. “Sickbay is just along here.” 

Chapel said, “Well, I’d be - happy to tell it to you sometime. I don’t actually know anyone on board.” 

Uhura said firmly, “In that case, you should come to the rec room this evening, and I’ll introduce you. Don’t worry, everyone will be delighted to meet you. And here we are.” 

The doors to sickbay swished obediently open at their arrival. Chapel looked around in curiosity. As McCoy emerged from his office, Uhura said, “I’ll leave you in Doctor McCoy’s capable hands but I’ll swing by after my shift?” 

Chapel smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you. Nyota.” 

* 

Towards the end of her shift, Christine Chapel was feeling noticeably less anxious. Doctor Leonard McCoy had turned out to be a forthright, irascible, but fundamentally kindly, Southerner. She’d harbored more than a little concern that he might not appreciate having an inexperienced starship nurse foisted upon him. She’d been prepared to stand her ground – after all, she’d had to fight Starfleet to get this far – but contrary to her worst expectations, he’d been genuinely pleased to see her. ‘The more, the merrier’ seemed to be his philosophy on staff, and he’d immediately set up a training regime on any starship equipment and procedures she might not be intimately familiar with. 

The few crewmembers that she’d encountered had been friendly, and she was somewhat nervously looking forward to meeting Nyota. It was strange to be amongst colleagues again. Much of her focus since Roger’s disappearance had been on trying to find a way to get to him, often at the cost of her own work, and her other relationships. Loneliness was a feeling Christine Chapel wore like amour against a discouraging world, and having people show an interest, even a professional one, was – disconcerting. It was a difficult thing to admit, even to herself, but sometimes, in the quiet of the night, it was getting harder to remember the impetus that had propelled her single-minded quest. 

Some of the adrenaline that had driven her this far was beginning to dissipate now she had actually made it on board a starship, and the hand that reached for the scanner Dr McCoy was having her study was not entirely steady. Preoccupied, she flexed her hand, willing it to settle, and the motion knocked the padd she’d been studying onto the floor, where it skidded away from her.

She turned to retrieve it, and almost walked into a tall, elegant Vulcan who had smoothly retrieved it from the deck and was now reaching around her to return it to the desk. 

Chapel said, “Oh! Thank you.” And stared at him in consternation. 

He inclined his head. “You are most welcome, Nurse-?” 

He had the most extraordinary dark eyes. The anxiety, that had begun to settle, returned. Feeling suddenly awkward and gauche, she stammered, “Chapel. Christine. Christine Chapel. I’m new. Today.” 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Enterprise, Nurse Chapel. I am the ship’s first officer, Commander Spock.” 

She been so concerned with getting on the Enterprise, she hadn’t so much as glanced at the crew manifest. She’d had no idea there was even a Vulcan on board. “Thank you. Very much, Commander. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

An thoughtful look crossed his face for a moment, and then he said, “I read a biomedical research paper last year from the laboratory of Doctor Roger Corby. The author was Christine Chapel.” 

She blinked at him in genuine surprise. “That’s me. That was – my paper. One of them, anyway.” 

He looked immediately interested. “That was excellent and most intriguing work. It is not my area of expertise, but the implications of your research were profound.” 

“Thank you.” She smiled in genuine delight. It had been a long time since anyone had even remembered her work, let alone commented on it. “Roger and I were very excited about it.” 

He almost frowned. “Forgive me, but are you not – somewhat overqualified for this role?” 

To her consternation, Christine felt herself blush. “Well, no actually, I mean, I am a nurse, but I’m under-experienced really, for a starship. But yes, I suppose, it’s unusual for a starship nurse to have my extensive academic background." 

He seemed about to say more when the door to McCoy’s office opened. 

“Ah! Spock!” McCoy’s voice hailed from his office. “Walk this way.” 

“Excuse me, Nurse.” She nodded hastily as he turned to walk to McCoy. “May I enquire as to the purpose of your summons, Doctor?” 

The doctor smiled cheerily. “You may indeed, Commander.” 

The doors closed behind them. At the table, Christine Chapel breathed out slowly. He wasn’t Selen. Intellectually, she knew that. But the younger, heart-broken woman inside her was not convinced. 

* 

Spock eyed McCoy suspiciously across his desk. “You appear to be in an excellent mood, Doctor. It is – somewhat disquieting.” 

McCoy grinned at him. “And you’re not gonna spoil it for me, so don’t try. Anyway, it’s good news for you. As of today, I not only have a full complement of staff, but a Deputy CMO, _and _a bonus nurse.” 

“I met your new nurse, but I fail to see, other than the improvement in your generally disgruntled demeanour, how this is good news for me?” 

“I’m getting to that, Mister Smart-Alec. It’s good news for_ you,_ because one of our new staff, Doctor M’Benga, did his internship on Vulcan. He is therefore something of an expert on Vulcan diseases and physiology.” McCoy grinned at him expectantly. 

Spock raised an eyebrow, said neutrally. “That is – good news.” 

“Yes, so I can transfer your care to him immediately.” 

Spock did not respond. His face displayed no reaction. 

McCoy’s smile slipped a little as he said, “Spock, if that’s okay with you?” 

The Vulcan said, somewhat hesitantly, “Is it - necessary that you do so? Would you - prefer me to be under the care of another physician?” 

McCoy frowned. “Well, to be honest, no, not after all the work I’ve put in getting familiar with your unique physiology. But – M'Benga’s a Vulcan specialist. And a superb doctor. We’re lucky to have him, and I just thought – you might prefer him.” 

Spock said, “I would not.” 

McCoy stared at him for a moment. 

Then he opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “Right. Okay. You and me it is, then.” 

“Will there be anything else, Doctor?” 

McCoy blinked. “Nope. No, that was it.” 

Spock nodded. “Then: Good day, Doctor.” He had turned on his heel and left before McCoy had a chance to respond. 

McCoy watched the closing door as a smile slowly formed on his face. 

_ * _

_ Stardate__: 1674.1 / 13__th _ _ December 2265 _

Spock looked at his Captain across the desk in Jim’s quarters. They had finished their carefully worded reports on the day’s events, but Kirk still looked – unhappy. Spock was aware that their conversation had been solely professional up to this point, and wondered if he should enquire further as to his Captain’s private thoughts on the matter. Jim had been – unusually quiet. 

He said, ‘You are content with the reports, Captain?’ 

Kirk, who had been staring at the padd, blinked at him in surprise. ‘What? Oh, yes, sorry. They're fine. Feel free to - ‘ He made a vague gesture in the direction of Spock’s quarters, “-carry on with your evening.” 

Spock stood, sensitive to the implied dismissal, took a step away, then said gently, “Jim. You appear distracted.” 

Kirk huffed an unconvincing laugh. “I came face to face with my dark side today, Spock, I think – yeah, I think ‘distracted’ sums it up.” He ran a hand across his face. 

Spock said carefully, ‘Under the circumstances, both yourself and the crew were as effective as possible. I do not think we could have done anything more efficiently, as I have stated in my report. The obvious solution was identified and the double contained quickly, preventing further harm.” 

Kirk looked at him for a long moment, then smiled gently. “It wasn’t really the most_ obvious_ solution though, was it?” 

“Captain?” 

“You had the testimonies of Rand and Farrell, neither of whom had any reason to lie. In fact they both had a pretty strong incentive to pretend it never happened. You had Rand's injuries and obvious distress. And you had me, already behaving a bit strangely, insisting it didn’t happen. Your solution? There’s a double of the Captain on board.” 

“And that was indeed the case.” 

“Yes, but that wasn’t the conclusion that anyone else would have reached for. The most logical, the most _obvious _solution was that - I was lying.” 

He watched Spock’s face crease slightly between the eyes – the Vulcan equivalent of a deep frown, and shook his head with a barely-there laugh. “Didn’t even occur to you, did it?” 

Spock said, a little stiffly, “It suggested itself as one of many solutions to the mystery but I dismissed it as so unlikely to have occurred that it did not merit serious consideration.” 

Kirk said quietly, “_Spock_.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For continuing to believe in me when everyone else, including me, was ready to give up.” 

“It would have been highly illogical do to otherwise, Captain.” 

“If you say so, Mister Spock.” 

Kirk leaned his head into his hands. After a long moment he looked up, ran his hands across his face, and stared dully at the bulkhead. Spock watched him in concern. 

He said quietly, “I’ve got his memories. Since the transporter. They’re not – clear, it’s like - remembering some horrible dream. But I do remember – her face. She was_ terrified_. Of me.” 

Spock crossed back to the desk, and sat slowly down. Kirk continued, “I spoke to her earlier. Gave the chance to transfer – with the highest recommendation – or do some other job on the Enterprise. She wouldn’t hear of it. Said that we’d both had – a difficult day.” He huffed a bitter laugh, shook his head. “You know, I’ve always prided myself on being a good judge of character. Being able to identify people’s strengths and weaknesses. But I underestimated Janice Rand. She’s - handling this better than I am.” 

After a moment, Spock said quietly, “It was not you.” 

Kirk said bitterly, “It was though, wasn’t it? A part of me, anyway.” 

Spock stirred in his chair. He said, “Jim, we all have within us the capacity for horrors. Amongst my kind, it was only the teaching of Surak that led Vulcans from a path of vicious self-destruction. Even now, when stripped of our logic, our reason, our higher instincts – the results can be terrible. That is what was done to you, and you are not responsible for it.” 

“But I still _feel _responsible.” 

“I do not believe that Yeoman Rand holds you responsible.” 

“No. No, she doesn’t. She made that clear. She was – very kind about it.” 

“Then it is even more illogical for you to continue to berate yourself.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

Kirk said, “My dark side – hid in the shadows. Attacked people. Avoided my friends. My light side – went straight to you.” He gave his first officer a small smile. “Thank you for your faith in me. For protecting me in front of the crew. And for being the light to my darkness.” 

“There is no need to thank me, Captain. I did only my duty.” 

Kirk smiled at him then, a more genuine one. “In that case, Mister Spock, I think I’d be worried if you ever decided to go above and beyond the call.” He sat back, regarding his first officer with affection.

After a moment his smile faded, and he said, “Spock, there’s something else I remember. The conversation in sickbay. I heard what you said about living with two halves of yourself, constantly at war.” 

Spock regarded him uncertainly. A look passed across his face too quickly for Jim to make sense of it. 

Kirk said, “ If there’s ever anything I can do to make that war easier, you only have to ask.” 

* 

Later that evening Spock had donned his robe in preparation for his evening meditation. His mind kept returning to the conversation he had had with Jim. Something about it was troubling, but he was unable to identify the source of the problem. Something about the way Jim had looked at him? No. Jim often looked at him in that fashion. With – affection. It had been disconcerting at first, but Spock has gradually adjusting to what was, after all, a not entirely unpleasing phenomenon. The source of his unsettled mind lay closer to home. In his own reactions. He began his meditation with the intent of identifying this issue. 

Half an hour later, he opened his eyes in concern. The answer was apparent. He – returned Jim’s feelings of friendship. Almost accidentally, and somehow against his conscious will, he had become fond – no, _excessively _fond – of James Kirk. He had had friendships before that had been disturbing to his emotional equilibrium, but not to this extent and consistency. But then he had not had occasion to spend as much time with any other friend before. Had not, in fact, wished to. Perhaps, in close friendships, amongst humans, this was normal. Perhaps this unexpected and easy sympathy, this feeling of home in the company of another, this strange but welcome bond which had grown slowly and unnoticed between them, was natural to humans. 

But it was not _Vulcan_. He must seek to – regulate this odd emotional attachment, lest it develop into a dependency. A need for this friendship. He must not betray his people any further with an unnecessary and illogical attachment to this particular human. 

* 

_Stardate__: 1709.4 / 17__th __December 2265__, 21:24 Ship’s time_   
  
Spock looked into Christine Chapel's dark eyes, inches from his own. Her hands enclosed his. He could feel the warmth of her, the truth of her emotion. _Why_ could he feel her so intensely? Even with their physical closeness he should still be able to - why was he not able to wall her gentle affection away from his mind? Something was wrong. Something was preventing him. His ability to shield, his control, was – compromised. He felt the sharp edge of fear. The illness. He was infected. He needed to –

“I love you. I don't know why, but I love you.” 

Behind the nurse’s voice he heard another. Another human female: younger, closer. 

_ I love you. _

He pulled his hands away. He must not remember. He must not – 

He staggered out of sickbay. 

_ I love you. _

Fear. Fear in the face of overwhelming emotion. The associated memories began to force themselves to his consciousness. 

* 

_ “__How was your class, Spock__?” _

_ “W__e discussed familial bonds, mother__.” _

_ “__Did you? Well, I’m sure that was interesting__.” _ _ Her voice __is__ gentle, but he __thinks __he __detects__ some concern behind it. _

_ “__Yes. It was thought __\- __strange that you and I do not share a familial bond__.” He does not say, I am the only one in my class without it. _

_ She __frowns __at that. __“__Well, it’s not very strange, Spock. I am human, after all. __I hope no-one made you feel -” _

_ He interrupts her quickly. __“__Yes, mother, but you share a bond with father. __Therefore__, __it is possible__.” _

_ “__Well, yes, but that’s __\- __different, __sweetheart. __Your father’s mental discipline is excellent and compensates for the lack of __physic ability or training on my side__.” _

_ “Please mother, we have discussed terms of endearment.” He likes to hear her say it, but he is aware he should not. _

_ “I’m sorry, _ _ swe _ _ \- Spock. I forget sometimes.” She smiles at him then. “I’m only human, you know.” Her eyes are twinkling in a way that he knows is indicative of teasing. _

_ “I am aware, mother.” Even if he could forget it, every day brings another reminder. “ _ _ My mental __discipline __is excellent__. I __have __undertaken extensive extra study to ensure it is so__.” _

_ “I know, Spock. Your tutors are very pleased with you.__” She __looks__ at him proudly. __“And__ you are still so young.” _

_ “__I will be seven in __fifteen days. __Then I will be bonded to __T'Pring__. _ _ I am old enough to share mental bonds__.” _

_ “__Yes, but __T'Pring __is Vulcan __–” _

_ There may be another reason for her refusal. One that he does not want to contemplate. He raises his chin and says, in a voice which is admirably steady, “__We need not attempt a bond __if the prospect __\- __displease__s __you__.” _

_ Her face creases in distress. “Oh __Spock, of course it doesn’t displease –"_

_ He says quickly, “A__ low _ _ \- _ _ level meld would suffice to see if _ _ o__ur minds are compatible__.” _

_ “__I’m sure that’s true__, but _ _\- _ _perhaps _ _it would be better to _ _wait until your father comes home__.” He knows as well as she does that __Sarek _ _will discourage the notion, as he has done before__. _

_He presses the point. “We could try a very simple exercise. Communication of a single thought.” _

_It is an exercise that small Vulcan children can master. He is sure they will be able to do it. And if they are successful, perhaps they can try more. _

_ “Oh, Spock, I don’t know - “ _

_ “__Please__, mother.” He looks up at her pleadingly, dark eyes wide. _

_ She sighs, and he almost smiles, but catches himself in time. _

_ “Alright. One thought. But if you are even slightly worried, darling, we stop straight away, okay?” _

_ He is excited enough to let the endearment go. “Yes, mother.” _

_ They sit on chairs opposite each other next to the kitchen table. _

_ She folds her hands in her lap. “What do we do?” _

_ He says seriously, “You must hold one thought in your mind, very clearly. Try to block out all other extraneous thoughts. It will be difficult for you as your mind, being human, will be undisciplined, but do your best.” _

_ She bites her lip, and for a moment he thinks she will laugh, but then her face relaxes and she says calmly, "I can do that.” _

_ He says __earnestly__, “I will touch your mind, and read the thought, then break the connection. Are you prepared?” _

_ She nods. “I’m ready.” Her face is serious now, but her eyes are warm. _

_ He reaches across the narrow space between them and presses his small fingers gently against her face. “My mind to you mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.” _

_ For a moment, there is nothing. He reminds himself that his mother will not know even the basic concepts of reaching for another mind, so __drops his shields__, and __reaches__ towards her __mental _ _ presence. He senses her__ gentle __thought immediately. _

** _ I love you. _ **

_ And then behind the thought, with a force and _ _ vehemence __he could not have imagined, the _**_feeling_**_. _ _ He __realises__, too late, __that he has __badly miscalculated__. _ _ Whilst accounting for his mother’s lack of __psychic ability, he has also __assumed __that her mind will __not be__capable of strength.__ In that__, it seems__, he is __entirely __wrong. _

_ It comes __at him i__n __a fierce, all consuming__, enveloping __wave __of emotion__. __It is as gentle as a summer breeze and as __terrifying __as __the strongest desert storm.__ It __overwhelms his inadequate mental __defences. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou__ It is wonderful, __and powerful, __and far, far too muc__h. _

_ He pulls away from her with a cry. _ _ Her eyes snap open and she looks __at him in alarm, _ _ then reaches out to catch him before he can fall from the chair. _

_ He __shies __away from her touch, stumbling and __righting himself. _

_ “Too much. __It is t__oo much. __You __shouldn’t.__” He is almost __shouting at her in his distress and she reaches for him again. _

_ ”Spock!” _

_ He __hurls __at her__,__“It is __not _**_Vulcan_**_! _ _ ” His last sight before he runs from __the room __is her __stricken __face. _

_ They __do not __speak of it again. _

* 

Spock walked unsteadily down the corridors of the Enterprise. His sight was beginning to blur. For a brief moment he wondered if it was a symptom of the disease unique to Vulcans, then to his horror he realized that he was beginning to cry. He was losing control. He was- 

_ I love you. _

He tried to regulate his breathing. Gather his fractured control. He could not allow himself to be seen in this state. He looked around through rapidly blurring eyes. The door to the briefing room was close by. In the current circumstances it would not be in use. He staggered inside. 

In his head he began to run through exercises from his childhood. Basic mental techniques to ground himself. When they failed he began mathematical exercises. But their complexity eluded him. He sank into a chair. 

* 

_ Same day. 23:5_6, _ ship’s time. _

James Kirk sat in his quarters, tapping a stylus lightly against the desk, and waiting. 

He’d addressed the crew, assuring them that no-one would be put on report for their actions under the influence of the Psi 2000 water – a stipulation he imagined Lieutenant Riley was particularly pleased about. He’d signed off on the work to put the Enterprise back to rights, finished his report on the incident, and even found time to eat. Now it was late and he was still sitting at his desk. Waiting. 

He hadn’t even been consciously aware that he was waiting. Until time passed, he finished his work, sat for a bit longer, and his first officer didn’t appear. 

They didn’t have an appointment as such. But it would be fair to say that they had a pattern. On more occasions than not, especially on days that had been – challenging in some way, Spock would come to his quarters in the evening and they’d finish their reports together. Or discuss the day, identifying improvement for the future. Or play chess. Or just….talk. 

It didn’t always happen. Spock had his science officer role which kept him in the lab much of the time when he wasn’t on the bridge. Kirk himself frequently spent his time not on the bridge in the various ship’s departments, guiding and getting an overview of their work. 

But often, however late it was, they would find themselves in each other’s company after times like this. A time when they’d come frighteningly close to losing the Enterprise. 

But now it was well into ship's night. And no Spock. 

Kirk frowned, looking at the chrono. It was late, but he and Spock didn’t tend to stand on ceremony with each other. Of course, the fact that his first officer wasn’t here already might be an indication that he didn’t want to discuss the day’s events. In which case, his captain should respect that. 

Kirk tapped the stylus. He didn’t feel the need to discuss it on his own behalf. He was already well aware of the price exacted by the captaincy and the fact that he'd talked about it whilst under the influence of the water wasn’t a surprise. He was just glad that only Spock had been there to hear the thoughts that sometimes haunted his sleepless nights. 

As to what Spock had said – he turned the stylus in his hand. He had done what he had to do. The Enterprise was safe. But part of him regretted that it had meant his only possible response to Spock’s obvious emotion had been to effectively ignore it. Seeing his stoic, logical first officer in such distress had been unsettling, and not just because of the situation. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he relied on Spock to _not_ have those reactions. To always be his logical foil, his unemotional rock. He had always intuited that Spock’s lack of overt emotional responses was a choice, rather than a fact, and that his first officer’s true feelings ran deep. He had just never expected to have it demonstrated in such a brutal way. 

To know how deep those feelings ran, and how hard Spock must have to work to suppress them, gave him a new respect for his first officer. 

_ When I feel friendship for you – I am ashamed. _

Kirk sighed, and threw the stylus onto his desk. That hadn’t been easy to hear, even if it was confirmation that Spock did think of him as a friend. Did have affection for him. Even against the wishes of his Vulcan nature. Even knowing that his people would not approve. He only hoped that Spock realized that – however his Vulcan half felt - his human friend didn’t think that way. It was this thought, more than anything, that drove him to his feet, and towards the door. He couldn’t stand the idea that Spock might be avoiding him on the suspicion that his Captain might somehow think less of him. Even if there was the slightest chance that that was true, he needed to set him straight. 

He walked the few steps along the corridor to Spock’s quarters and activated the chime. As he waited, it occurred to him that in all the months they’d served together, he’d never actually seen Spock’s quarters. The thought made him a little ashamed of himself. 

Spock’s voice called, “Enter” and Jim stepped inside. 

The first thing that struck him was the temperature. Spock’s quarters, a few degrees hotter than the rest of the Enterprise, were pleasantly warm. Almost cosy. The second thing to call itself to his attention was the lighting. It had never occurred to him before to think of the rest of the Enterprise’s lighting as cold, but the comparison with the dimmer, more intimate lighting in Spock’s quarters was stark. The décor was significantly more homely than he had expected. He thought with affection that this room reflected Spock’s inner self far more than it did his logical exterior. 

His first officer had just risen from the floor, and was out of uniform. As he stood, a long, dark robe of some rich and tactile material fell gracefully into place around his slim form. Kirk felt suddenly and unexpectedly overdressed in his uniform. 

He said, “Spock, I’m sorry to disturb you so late, I -” His mind ran quickly through any number of legitimate excuses he could have for needing to speak to his first officer. Then settled for the truth. “I wanted to see if you were alright. I know you said you were earlier, but – well, that was earlier.” 

Spock’s hands were hidden by the folds of his robe. He said, “I am well, Captain, thank you for your concern.” 

Kirk nodded. “Good. That’s good.” 

Silence descended. 

Spock gestured to the visitors chair at his desk, said, “May I offer you a drink, Cap-" at the same moment as Kirk said, “Spock, look, I just wanted to -” 

They both stopped. Kirk shot his first officer a half smile as Spock blinked. 

Kirk said, “Thanks, I’ll have whatever -” as Spock said, “There is no need to -” 

They both stopped again. Kirk looked at the floor and huffed a laugh, before looking up and pointing to the chair. “I’m just gonna sit. Any drink would be great.” 

Spock bowed his head, before crossing to the shelves and retrieving an ornate decanter. Kirk regarded it with curiosity. The liquid within was an exotic shade of deep, opaque purple. 

Spock poured a glass and handed it to Kirk as he said, in answer to his look, “It is a Vulcan beverage designed to promote mental clarity and physical relaxation.” 

Kirk eyed the small glass. “I may need more.” 

Spock gave him a look that Jim recognised as tolerant amusement, so like his normal demeanour that Kirk was gladdened to see it. 

Spock said mildly, “I would suggest you try it, Captain, before committing to more.” 

Eyeing his first officer, Kirk sipped the drink. For a split second he thought his mouth was on fire, then the initial alarming spiciness dissolved into a warm and pleasant aftertaste. He stared at the glass in confusion. Some or all of his reactions must have shown on his face, as Spock looked quietly entertained. 

He cleared his throat, said, “That’s, actually, not bad. Quite nice.” He ventured another sip. Now he was ready for the initial hit of spice it wasn’t so acute, and the warmth that followed was improved with further exposure. 

Spock had poured his own drink, and they'd both got through half a glass before Kirk said, “Were you meditating? I’m sorry for interrupting.” 

Spock shook his head. “You did not. I – was finding it more difficult this evening than usual so I extended the time. But I had finished.” 

Kirk nodded. “Tough day.” 

There was a pause before Spock said quietly, “Yes.” 

After a moment, Kirk said, “Spock, I -” at the same moment as Spock said, “ Jim, I-” 

They stopped and stared at each other. Kirk laughed. “Okay, let’s do this. I’ll drink, you talk. Then we’ll swap.” He raised his glass. “Go.” 

Spock said, “Jim, I wished to apologise for -” 

Kirk almost choked on his drink with the effort to interrupt. “No, no. No apologies. Everyone gets a pass for today. Even you. God, _especially _you. I mean, if I can forgive Riley, then -” He spread his hands expressively. “And I have to tell you, I didn’t want to forgive Riley. I think if I ever hear that song again, I might just seek him out and punch him retrospectively.” 

Spock looked troubled. “Jim. I assaulted you. And by my inaction, I almost doomed the ship.” 

“Okay, well yes, but you only hit me after I hit you – how many times?” 

“Five.” 

Kirk stared at him in consternation. “_Five_? Really?” 

“Yes.” 

Kirk cleared his throat. “Well, that’s adequate provocation in anyone’s book. And then you pulled it together and did in less than three minutes a calculation that would have taken Scotty and I working together the best part of twenty. You pulled off a miracle and saved the ship. So: no apologies. Okay?” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“That wasn’t an – never mind, I’ll take it.” He sipped his drink again, watching Spock expectantly. When he didn’t speak again, Kirk said, “Was there – anything else you wanted to say?” 

Spock said, a little hesitantly, “There was not.” 

Kirk set his drink down. “Okay. My turn then.” He took a breath. “I guess I just wanted to remind you - that I’m human.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I am – well aware of that, Captain.” 

“Good. And as such, I’m pretty tolerant of -” he paused, seeking the right words, “- what I suppose Vulcans might consider – excessive displays of emotion. I realise that circumstances might have made it look otherwise, and I know I said no apologies, but - I am sorry for that.” He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and added, “Spock, I what I’m trying to say – pretty badly – is that I’m here for you. And not just as your Captain. As your friend. And that I don’t expect anything in return. I wouldn’t ever want anything from you that you aren’t comfortable giving, even friendship. I don’t need you to feel friendship for me, but I do want you to know that – I feel friendship for you. And whatever happens, I think that’s - pretty irrevocable at this point.” 

In the silence that followed, he gave Spock a half smile. When no reply was forthcoming, he said, a little awkwardly, “Well, that was my speech for the evening.” He slapped the desk lightly and stood. “I’ll stop interrupting your night.” 

He moved towards the door, but as he reached it, a voice behind him said quietly, “Jim.” 

He turned. Spock had stood, and was regarding the floor between them with a slight frown. 

Kirk waited. 

Spock said, still in that quiet tone, “Jim. I am Vulcan.” 

Kirk gave a slightly self-conscious laugh. “Well, aren’t we both just stating the obvious tonight.” 

Spock continued as if he hadn’t spoken, speaking quickly but firmly. “And as such I am conditioned to believe that all emotions should be ruled by logic. Should be under the control of the mind at all times. I have struggled with the idea that I have feelings towards you over and above any that may be required by duty. I have denied the fact that I occasionally find myself desirous of your company when there is no logical reason for it. I have ignored a physiological response commensurate with anxiety when your wellbeing is threatened.” He stopped. Took a breath, and looked up. Kirk was staring at him, wide eyed. “I also believe that these states may be – irrevocable. However, I find that, upon reflection, the thought is not -entirely unpleasant.” 

Kirk felt a slow smile begin to spread across his face. In response, Spock’s gaze, which had been as carefully neutral as he’d ever seen it, began to warm. Spock added slowly, “I believe I may have to – as the human expression has it – learn to live with it.” 

Kirk was genuinely smiling now. “I am inordinately pleased to hear that, Mister Spock.” They looked at each other in silence for a few moments. 

Kirk said, suddenly, “Oh, that neck grab thing – you'll have to teach me that.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The to’tsu’k’hy? I am not aware of any non-Vulcan who has mastered the technique.” 

“Have any tried?” 

Spock blinked. “I - do not know.” 

“Well. We could give it a go. When you’ve got some time.” 

“Indeed.” 

Kirk smiled at him fondly. “Goodnight, Spock.” 

To any outward observer, Spock did not smile back. But Kirk was entirely sure, even in the dim light, that his expression softened.

“Goodnight, Jim.” 

* 

_ Stardate: _ _1759.5 / _ _ Terran _ _ calendar: 24__th _ _ December, 20:00 hours. _

"Oh come on Jim, it’s Christmas. Everyone’s off duty. Come down to the shuttle bay. Live a little."

Kirk frowned at his CMO. "I damn well hope everyone_ isn’t _off duty. Starfleet doesn’t stop because it’s Christmas, Bones. Only humans celebrate it, remember?"

McCoy pointed at him. "Not true. Lieutenant Ch’Karrak is down there right now, with tinsel ‘round his antennas." Kirk blinked at the mental image of the Enterprise’s bullish and taciturn Andorian security officer adorned with sparkly headgear. 

McCoy was still talking. "So don’t give me that aliens don’t - ohhhh." Realization dawned on his face. "This is about your favorite pointy eared alien, isn’t it? Spock’s not here for Christmas, and you’re sulking." 

Kirk glared at him. "Don’t be ridiculous. I have work to do."

With a turn of speed that frankly Kirk wouldn’t have credited him with, McCoy whipped the padd from in front of his Captain and read the title. "The Wild West: the Epic Saga of the American Frontier, 1800 – 1899." He eyed his friend over the padd. "I suppose this is required reading for starship captains? Actually, don’t answer that, I've seen your approach to landing parties: this doesn’t surprise me at all."

Kirk stood up, took the padd back, grumbled, "I’m entitled to leisure time."

McCoy agreed with enthusiasm. ‘Yes! Exactly, and all I’m saying is, spend it with your crew, who would be delighted to see you celebrate with them, rather than sat in here, on your own."

Kirk sighed. "Bones, I don’t want to kill the mood. Captain turns up, suddenly everyone’s on their best behavior. Hardly conducive to the party atmosphere."

McCoy waved this aside. "Oh hooey, Jim. There’s enough alcoholic punch down there to sink the flagship. After five minutes, no-one will even notice you. Come on. Show your face. Shake hands. Wish your crew Merry Christmas."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I already did that by giving them permission to use the whole shuttlebay for a party. And turning a blind eye to that lethal punch."

As McCoy opened his mouth again, Kirk groaned._ "Okay_, Bones, fine. I’ll come. Just for half an hour."

McCoy grinned. 

And so Kirk was sat against the wall of the shuttlebay, watching his crew relax. The atmosphere had dimmed slightly at his entrance although McCoy had, surprisingly, been right – there was a genuine sense that his presence was welcome. He'd given a brief speech about how well the crew had performed since the start of their mission almost eight months to the day, and how proud he was to be their Captain, which had led to more than one person wiping away a tear, which had led to their Captain wondering how much punch had been consumed prior to his arrival. Then he’d told them to enjoy the party, which had earned him a loud cheer. Then he’d had a solid twenty minutes of crewmembers shaking his hand and wishing him Merry Christmas, before he’d tried to slip away and was cornered by McCoy. Now he was on his third punch, and striving to remain unnoticed in the shadows. 

He’d meant to leave after the first drink, but Uhura had appeared out of the crowd and replaced it, and he hadn’t had the heart to refuse that radiant smile. She looked thoroughly in her element. She’d done herself proud with the décor. If he hadn’t known this was the Enterprise’s shuttle bay, he wouldn’t have recognized it. Everything that could have been moved, had been, creating a space for a large dance floor and tables. Everyone who could play an instrument on the Enterprise had been roped into being the band, and were doing a highly respectable job, as far as their Captain’s somewhat unmusical ear was concerned. The shuttles themselves had been shifted to one side and decorated. Including the Columbus, which had had a large Christmas tree daubed on its side in a paint that he sincerely hoped wasn’t permanent. 

The main lighting was off, and illumination was supplied by softly glowing lanterns, and projected starfields, giving the whole space an intimate, appropriately unearthly air. Uhura herself was currently the centre of admiring attention from four different crewmembers, and Kirk watched with amused admiration as she neatly dispatched the three men, and led Scotty’s beautiful third engineer, Charlott Hawkins, to the dancefloor. Even as her Captain, he’d still taken about five minutes to figure out who the attractive blonde woman with Uhura was, since he’d never seen Hawkins in anything other than engineering overalls, looking like she’d just crawled out from under said engines. 

The dance was a slow one, and people, driven by punch, and the lateness of the hour, had begun to pair off. He made a mental note that the rumour about one of Spock’s young scientists, Carla Noble, and Darren’s hard-as-nails deputy head of security, was clearly true, as the young couple swayed past him, and the man that Kirk had seen stare down rabid alien beasts gazed at her in overwhelmed, besotted admiration. He hid his smile behind another sip of punch. 

Couples swirled slowly in front of him, and he began to feel a kind of melancholy settle in his chest. It had been there, on and off, since that damned Psi 2000 water. He had his lady, who meant more to him than anything, but he couldn’t dance with her. Couldn’t talk with her. Couldn’t hold her in his arms. Ahead of him, through the dancing pairs, he caught sight of straight, sleek dark hair and science blues at the far side of the dancefloor, and his heart gave a hopeful leap before the dancers cleared further, and he realised that the person with their back to him had longer hair, was too slim, and unmistakably female. 

He slumped back into his chair and knocked back the rest of the punch in his hand. In front of him, Lieutenants Jacob Reynolds (medical, came with McCoy’s team, his mind supplied helpfully), and Reese Sanders (science, Spock speaks highly of him) had stopped dancing entirely, their dark and blonde heads catching the light as Uhura’s soft lanterns revolved. His mind noted dully that they made a handsome couple. He saw them lean together for a lingering kiss with an emotion that felt a lot like jealousy. He looked down at his empty glass to give them some privacy in their darkened corner. Four hundred people on his ship and no-one to dance with. He’d had enough to drink. Time to go. 

A voice at his side said, "Captain. I hope you’re having a good time."

He squinted up at the woman he’d seen on the opposite side of the dance floor. Close up, she was strikingly beautiful, dark haired, dark eyed, slim faced, with pronounced cheekbones. And smiling at him. 

He said, after a brief struggle to stand –_ how much have I had?_ \- "It’s Doctor Noel, isn’t it? You’re in Doctor McCoy’s team."

Her smile widened. "It’s Helen, please, Captain. And yes, I am." 

"It’s good to meet you, Helen." She was standing really quite close. She needed to really, the music and talking was fairly loud, but it meant he could see how dark her eyes were. And how intently she was watching him. He said impulsively, "Call me Jim, please."

She laid her hand on his arm with a radiant smile. "Jim. Would you like to dance?"

He hadn’t danced in years, but it didn’t matter. She was a lovely dancer, light and elegant in his arms. He felt some of the melancholy begin to lift. They talked about the ship, and the stars. Uhura’s projected starfield was reflected in her eyes, and moved like lit freckles across her face. He touched her cheek gently, naming the constellations as they passed. 

She laughed lightly. "Those are Earth constellations." 

He smiled back. "They are. Specifically, American, northern hemisphere, winter constellations. The stars you can see from, say, San Francisco on a clear, cold winter’s night." 

She had slipped her arms around his neck. "Oh, that’s lovely. How clever of Nyota."

Kirk became aware, suddenly, that the music they were dancing to had stopped. And that they were off the dancefloor entirely, away in the shadows, almost entirely alone. The moment hung between them. She gazed up at him, waiting, hopeful, and he realized that he could kiss her, if he wanted. And for a few seconds, he did want. Wanted to stop feeling alone in a room of three hundred people. 

But he couldn’t. Because she was part of his crew, and this had gone far enough already. He swallowed, said gently, "Helen, I - "

A voice called roughly, "Jim! You're still here!" McCoy had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Noel drew away. "I thought you’d be long gone by n – oh, hello Helen."

Her greeting was slightly less effusive. "Hello, Leonard." 

McCoy turned back to Kirk, patted him happily on the arm. Kirk smiled at him in relief, and noted with wry amusement that his CMO was more than three sheets to the wind. "This is very good, Jim, you being shociable. I’d’ve expected you to be back in your quarters playing chessh by now." 

"Bones, I can’t play chess on my own, how much have you had?" He threw Helen a look of conspiratorial amusement and she gave him a thin smile in return. 

McCoy said, frowning, "Not on your own. With – with Shpock."

"He’s not back yet, we had this conversation -"

"Yesh he is, he’s -" McCoy turned around vaguely, "He was here. Gone now."

"Spock’s _back_?" 

"I just said that. Looking for you. I said you’d been miserable and gone back to your quarters, so he’s probably there." 

Jim took a step towards the door, stopped, said, "It was lovely to meet you, Doctor Noel." Then left the shuttlebay at what was nearly a run. 

* 

His first stop was his own quarters, but the chess board sat alone and neglected. He’d actually been expecting to see Spock sitting at it, however illogical that was. As he hurried along the corridor to Spock’s quarters he wondered with a sudden pang of concern if Bones had just been drunk and mistaken someone else for his first officer, as he’d almost done himself. 

His heart sank even further as there was no response to his chime at Spock’s quarters. After a second chime went unanswered he trudged back to his own quarters, more disappointed than he was willing to try and rationalize, and cursing his CMO’s drunken imaginings. He wished Bones had just left him be. He’d been fairly content to spend Christmas alone with his book. Now he was spending it drunk, tired, over-emotional, already regretting whatever had nearly happened with Helen Noel, and_ still _alone. 

He threw himself on his bed, and checked the chrono. Ten to midnight, ship’s time. Nearly Christmas Day. He thought suddenly, with a pang of guilt, that he should have booked some time with comms team to call Earth. Speak to his mom. There wouldn’t be any Christmas slots left now. Great. He’d managed to nail being a bad CO and a bad son, all in one night. 

The door chime sounded and he rolled over onto his front, willing them to go away. It clearly wasn’t important, or the bridge would be contacting him. So it was either Bones, ready to nag him back to the party, or – heaven forbid – Helen Noel, and he’d screwed that situation up enough for one night. 

There was definitely a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. What the hell had Uhura put in that punch? He pulled the pillow over his head to block out what little light there was in the room. So he was completely unaware of the door opening, and light footsteps across the floor, until a voice said uncertainly, "Jim?"

He sat upright so quickly the room spun. And steadied into the form of his first officer, looking at him with concern. 

"Spock!" 

He threw himself off the bed before sober thought could intervene and pulled the unresisting Vulcan into a hug. Spock stiffened in surprise, then he felt careful hands graze his back briefly, and fall away uncertainly.

He drew back and said, still holding Spock’s shoulders, smiling in delight, "What are you doing here? I thought you were away until the day after tomorrow?" 

Spock was making what Kirk recognized as a heroically Vulcan effort not to smile back, which just made his own smile even wider. "I requested that my presentation and question and answer session be moved to the first day of the conference, leaving me free to travel back yesterday. I would have been here earlier, but there was a delay catching the shuttle from Starbase thirty-two. Apparently, it is Christmas."

Jim realized suddenly that the room was still swaying slightly, so he pulled the unresisting Vulcan down to sit next to him on the bed. "Bones said he saw you, but I went to your quarters and you weren’t there, so I thought he was just – drunk."

"Upon my return, I attempted to locate you in the shuttlebay but ran into Doctor McCoy who, whilst indeed being somewhat inebriated, managed to communicate to me that you had probably returned to your quarters. So I dropped my research notes off at the lab, then came here."

"Oh, right, your notes – hey, how did the presentation go?" 

"It was well received. I was – complimented on its content."

Kirk grinned at him in delight. "You were complimented? By_ Vulcans_? Spock, that’s brilliant, you must have been a huge hit." 

An odd look passed across his friend’s face that sober Kirk might have ignored in the interests of their mutual pretense that Spock didn’t feel things as deeply as Kirk knew he did, but he’d had three large glasses of Uhura’s lethal punch so he nudged Spock’s arm. "Hey, what’s up?" 

"Jim?" 

He tried to point to Spock’s face, but co-ordination failed him and he ended up gently stabbing him in the cheek with a finger, causing the Vulcan to blink in surprise. "I know that look. Something’s bothered you. Spill, Mister." 

"I was informed after the event that – my father was in the audience."

Kirk stared at him. "He came to hear your presentation? Your presentation for the _VSA_? Spock, that’s _great!_ I said he had to be proud of you. And he obviouslyis, he went all that way to hear you. ‘Specially."

Spock said uncertainly, "He may have been there anyway. It may have been a coincidence." 

Kirk gave a derisive snort. "Does he work for the VSA? Is he a scientist?"

"He does not. He is not."

"Then no chance was he there by accident," Kirk said with certainty. "Starbase Thirty-two is way off the beaten track for anyone who’s not going there deliberately and it’s _boring_. There’s not even a decent _bar_. _No-one _visits it without a good reason." 

"He - did not speak to me. I was not even aware he had been present." Spock’s face hadn’t changed but his dark eyes looked – hurt. 

Kirk wished he was sober. In lieu of being able to think of the right thing to say, he shuffled along the bed, put an arm around his friend’s shoulder and squeezed his slim form awkwardly. 

A thought occurred, and he frowned. "Spock, – wait - why did you move your slot for your speech? I thought you were opening the final day. And that was – kind of a big deal?" 

Spock said, a little uncomfortably, "When I requested my leave of absence, you appeared to – query the date. I am aware that it is a time to which humans generally attach significance in terms of their familial relations and - friendships. It occurred to me that in that regard, my time would be more appropriately spent – here." 

Kirk had to swallow around a lump in his throat. "I'm glad you thought that."

"I am also – gratified to be here, Jim."

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Jim said suddenly, "Wait, hold on," he stood, and turned to the chrono. "Eleven-fifty-nine. It’s nearly Christmas. Computer, show security feed from the shuttlebay." They moved to the monitor as it lit up with a view of the party in progress, only now everyone had crowded onto the dance floor. As they watched, a countdown began, over three hundred voices in unison. "Ten. Nine. -" The sound came through the monitor, but Jim was vaguely surprised they couldn’t hear it through the decks. They both watched as the time ticked over to midnight. On ‘one’, the screen went merrily crazy, as people cheered and whooped and hugged and laughed. 

Kirk found himself laughing along with his crew. At his side, he could feel Spock’s warmth as he leaned close to see the screen. He couldn’t remember a Christmas when he’d felt more content.

He looked across to see Spock had stopped watching the screen, and was watching his Captain. He said happily, "Merry Christmas, Spock."

Spock’s face softened. "Merry Christmas, Jim."

He nudged his first officer’s shoulder with his own. "Hey, wanna play some chess?"

Spock’s gaze was fond. "Jim, I believe you to be at least mildly inebriated. The game may be – short." 

"You’re scared of my crazy chess stratagems being improved by alcohol." He nodded. "I get it. Worried your lead in the game tally is going to be short-lived."

Spock raised an eyebrow, then said, with exaggerated neutrality, "Yes, Jim. You have precisely identified my concern. In fact, I request that this game not be included in the overall tally."

"Okay, Spock." Jim gave a sigh of long-suffering patience, and patted his first officer on the back. "I’ll agree to that on this occasion. Wouldn’t want you to get discouraged."

Spock’s eyes seemed to glitter with amusement in the dim light. "Thank you, Jim."

They moved to the board. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent a fortnight poking at this chapter, and I'm still not happy with it, but I'm posting because I've got a tough day at work tomorrow and I'm hoping that someone might read this and say nice things which would cheer me up no end. Please? :) 
> 
> Next time: Romance! Kirk officiates his first wedding and Chapel finds her fiancee. Helen Noel gets a chance to retcon Christmas, and we are introduced to the Vulcan mind meld. 
> 
> On the one year anniversary of the start of their mission, Spock receives some news that threatens to destroy his relationship with Jim.


	6. A Remembrance of Things Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello fellow AO3 K/S lovers. I hope you are keeping well in these strange times. Here is some of my contribution to temporarily distracting you from the weirdness and stress. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented - not only on this, but on my other K/S fics. I know I'm behind in responding, but I've read them all, and I love you for it. I'm sorry this is taking so long - I stupidly erased two whole chapters of this fic and lost the will with it for a bit! It's not what I hoped for, but here it is anyway xxx
> 
> Quick note for the pedants (by which I mean me!): From this point, I’m going to have to start playing fast and loose with stardates. The airdates, filming dates and stardates given in the episodes start to get increasingly contradictory from here on in. Putting the episodes in the order of filming, airing or stardates would contradict at least one of the other two, if not both, so whilst I’m broadly going to keep to airdate and stardate order where possible, sometimes they are so contradictory, I’m just going to go with narrative convenience! The story will be internally consistent, and the dates accurate, but the stardates won’t always agree with those given in the episodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set before and after Balance of Terror.  
Scenes set during and after What Are Little Girls Made Of?  
Scenes set during and after Dagger of the Mind 
> 
> (Also, if you haven't seen the Discovery short trek Q&A, at least one scene here might come off as ....odd)
> 
> Please see the end note for content warning.

_Rateg__ City, Romulus, __Stardate_ _48593_._16 (__Terran__ Calendar: 6__th__ June, 2371)_

Spock awoke to the biting cold of another Rateg morning. Years in Starfleet had accustomed him to coming to full alertness quickly, but this morning he felt sluggish, and somewhat feverish. As he lay, orienting himself to the new day, his dreams of the night before came back to him. _ Jim_. For the last four nights in succession, as soon as he closed his eyes. _ Jim_. At differing stages in their life together: as a young Captain aboard the original Enterprise, as an Admiral, as an older Captain, and then as the semi-retired officer he had been when he had been sent on the ill-fated maiden voyage of the Enterprise-B. Spock sighed. He had begun to dislike the necessity to wake. The contrast with the warmth and vibrancy of his dreams was – stark. 

The hallucinations, if that was what they had been, had stopped, but the dreams were no less real, no less welcome. However, he finally believed he knew the reason for them. They had started to coalesce around clear periods in his life: specifically, his _pon_ _farr_. Those times he had shared with Jim. His subconscious was clearly trying to tell him something. Something that his conscious mind could no longer ignore. As the last few decades had passed, the blood fever had become less intense, lacking the fervor and desperate passion of his youth, but the threat to life remained. There was no choice. 

He must return to Vulcan. 

Slowly, carefully, he rose, moved across the narrow confines of his cell, and sat before the small desk. A concealed button on the underside caused a screen and old–fashioned console to rise from its warped surface. He entered his passcodes and identifying biometrics, then entered the co-ordinates and identifying number of the computer terminal he wished to contact, and the access details that would bypass its security. Then he sat back, and waited. The distance from Romulus to Vulcan was immense, even by modern standards of communication, and it was entirely possible, given the unexpected nature of his call, she wasn’t even in her rooms. If she was not, he would have to run the gauntlet of the layers of administration and security which surrounded the temple, and he simply lacked the will to try. It was, after all, only a courtesy call to an old friend. 

A change in the readout let him know that connection to that distant terminal had been established. A small readout in the corner of his screen told him the local time at the destination of his call. He frowned slightly. It was later than he had realized. She would, in all probability, be asleep. Or in meditation. His calculations had been inaccurate. He reached quickly to terminate the call, but before he could do so, the screen flickered to life. 

Her image appeared, and he experienced a measure of relief. She was still wearing her daily robes, and general demeanor and mild expression did not indicate a recent unwelcome awakening. She said quietly, “This is T’Sha’al.” 

He said quickly, in formal Vulcan, “High Priestess T’Sha’al. Forgive my temerity in contacting you directly without prior notification. I wished to inform you that - “ 

He saw the moment his voice reached her. Her face, which had been holding an expression of polite, if distant, formality, relaxed instantly into a small, but genuine – and even after all these years, still slightly surprising – smile. 

“Spock! This is a surprise. It is pleasing to hear your voice once more.” 

He reflected, not for the first time, that for someone who had spent relatively little time amongst humans, her reactions were sometimes closer to human than the epitome of Vulcaness that she represented. He was also aware that this aspect of Vulcan’s revered High Priestess was one that very few people saw. He felt again the privilege of his position, and said, with real sincerity. “As it is to hear yours, T’Sha’al.” 

She said, “We are due to meet in – a month, is it not?” 

She had clearly kept a better mental track on the passage of time since their last meeting than he had. The thought was not a surprise, although it was slightly embarrassing. 

He said quickly, “I would never presume that to be the case.” 

Her smile warmed. “I know. So yet again I have presumed for you. It is quite the habit of mine.” 

For the first time in many months, Spock felt the desire to smile back. It was an odd, if not entirely unwelcome, sensation. “I am honored, High Priestess.” He knew she would raise an objection to his use of her title, so he continued, before she could do so. 

“But I have decided -” He paused. 

Saying it out loud would give the thought a mortal reality, an irrevocable permanence, that it had so far lacked. Across the light years, T’Sha’al waited patiently for him to finish. To his eyes, she seemed to have aged not a day since he had last seen her in person, almost seven years previously. The years, he thought tiredly, had not been so kind to him. To all outward appearances, she had grown more reserved and formal as her responsibilities had increased, but in private, Spock had observed very little change. In his mind’s eye he saw her suddenly as he had first seen her, Jim at his side, as she had stood on the transporter pad of the Enterprise with her sister. That had been more than a century ago. It was time. It was more than time. 

He took a breath. “I will be returning to Vulcan. But not to the temple.” 

Her face lightened. “Spock, you have a partner? That is excellent news.” 

He said quietly, but firmly, “I do not.” 

They sat in silence for a long moment. Outside, he could hear the biting wind against the walls of his cell. She said slowly, all trace of good humor gone, “I know that you would not have arrived at this decision without a great deal of consideration. But – is there nothing I can say to change your mind? Perhaps if you were to simply visit the temple, we could -’. 

“T’sha’al.” She stopped. He said, before logical thought could intervene, “I am conscious of owing you a debt it has never been within my gift to repay. I cannot adequately express - “ 

She had lowered her gaze, but now she raised it again, and her expression was every inch the embodiment of Vulcan discipline. She said, “Where?” 

“I had planned to make arrangements at my family home-” 

She nodded. “I will make the arrangements. Inform the temple of your arrival time and I will meet you there.” 

He said firmly, “I had not anticipated any company -” 

“Have you forgotten, son of Sarek, to whom you are speaking?” Her tone was lighter, and her expression neutral, but the certainty in her voice was that of someone used to immediate obedience. 

Spock drew a breath. He had planned to be alone. It would have been easier that way. But he knew T’Sha’al well enough to know that she would not attempt to sway his resolve, and something in his chest had loosened at the thought of a friend being there. 

He said, “High Priestess, you must have other duties, other demands -” 

She said with certainty, “T’Lana will stand in for me. T’Rena will be here. I will not be gainsaid on this, Spock.” 

He said, huskily, “I am - grateful, T’Sha’al.” 

She drew a long breath. “I cannot say the thought pleases me, but I would not be elsewhere. I -” Her voice wavered, and she broke off. She turned from the screen, and he could no longer see her face. When she turned back, her expression was entirely neutral. She said evenly, “No gratitude is necessary for the performance of my duty.” 

Spock paused. This was not her duty. They both knew it. He wondered if a High Priestess in the history of all Vulcan had personally attended the death of a disgraced former ambassador. 

He said simply, “Thank you, T’Sha’al.” 

She nodded. “When your arrival time is confirmed, relay it to the temple.” She seemed about to say something else, but settled for, “I will await your arrival.” The screen blinked off. 

Spock sat back in his chair. The decision was made. All he had to do now was arrange passage to Vulcan. 

* 

In her small rooms in the eaves of the temple, T’Sha’al stared at the blank screen, waiting for her emotional equilibrium to return. The High Priestess was entitled to much larger rooms, in the centre of the temple complex, but T’Sha’al had lived in these rooms for most of her life, and had no desire to move now. A familiar presence called itself to her attention a few moments before a knock sounded at her door. 

She called, “Come in” even as the door swung open and her sister’s face, narrowly disguising her concern, appeared round the door. At the sight of T’Sha’al, she pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing the door behind her and coming to sit in her usual chair at the side of T’Sha’al’s desk. 

T’Rena said, without preamble, “What is it?” 

T’Sha’al squeezed her sister’s hand, which had come to rest on the desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I had a shock. I wasn’t shielding strongly enough.” 

“You didn’t disturb me. I was only reading. What is it?” 

“Spock just called me.” 

T’Rena looked surprised. “Is it that time? Is he – is he well?” 

“He is as well as could be expected. He is coming to Vulcan.” She felt her sister’s shifting emotions at the thought of seeing her husband’s oldest friend, quickly suppressed, and added. “He is not coming to the temple.” 

She felt the thought process that she herself had followed minutes before, flash through her sister’s mind, and arrive at the only conclusion T’sha’al’s unexpected distress would allow. 

“He is not coming to you.” 

“I will be there, but only to ensure he does not suffer.” 

T’Rena looked across the room, to the window. Behind the pane, stars glittered across a dark Vulcan sky. After a long moment, she looked back to her sister. “I am sorry, T’Sha’al.” 

“I, too, pi’ko’kai.” T’Sha’al took a deep, centering breath. “Kadiith. We must all do as our path requires.” 

T’Sha’al heard, in her sister’s mind, a familiar human voice, years gone, but as present in her sister’s thoughts as the day they had met. She said gently, “T’Rena?” and moved her other hand to enclose her sister’s in both of hers. 

T’Rena said, a little shakily, “He would have wanted - “ she broke off. “Will you meld with me, before you go? He would have wanted Spock to know - “ 

“I will. Of course, I will.” 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, _ _ Stardate _ _ 1880.62 (__Terran _ _ Calendar: 10__th _ _ January 2266) _

_My dear Spock, _

_Just a very quick note this time to say yes, your father did attend your lecture at Starbase Thirty-Five! Of course, he tried to pass it off to me as a terribly logical decision based on his quite logical need to know more about the science involved in prolonged deep space exploration. You can imagine how convincing that was. I wish you could have heard him – I know you think he isn’t proud of you, but he so very much is. Even his very best Vulcan reserve couldn’t hide it. _

_He is also aware that I am unimpressed that he saw you without me – especially given that he has previously had the temerity to question the frequency of our communication! Needless to say, should another opportunity arise to see you, we will both be in attendance. He has assured me it will be within the year – perhaps some kind of diplomatic escort. I am so pleased to think I might finally get to see your wonderful ship again, and meet your crewmates. _

_I’m glad you are getting along so well with Captain Kirk- I know, I know, it’s not really relevant, and it doesn’t matter to the performance of your duties, but it is so nice to hear you mention him so often - I do hope I get a chance to meet him. _

_Take care of yourself, and write again soon. _

_Your mother, _

_Amanda _

* 

_USS Enterprise, __Stardate_ _1987.94__ (__Terran__ Calendar: 25__th__ January, 2266)_

Standing awkwardly near the desk in the Captain’s quarters, Janice Rand shifted her weight to her other foot, and shot a pleading look to Commander Spock, standing at her elbow. The Vulcan caught her eye, and raised an eyebrow almost infinitesimally. Janice bit her lip, and returned her attention across the room, to the Captain, who had just begun again. 

“Okay. How about this.” Kirk cleared his throat. “Since the days of the first wooden vessels, all shipmasters have had one happy privilege. That of uniting two people -” 

Rand made a faint, high pitched noise of distress and turned an imploring look to Spock. The Vulcan drew a breath. “Captain. This is the fifth iteration of this speech we have heard. All were acceptable.” 

Kirk looked up from his padd. “Acceptable? Acceptable isn’t good enough, Spock, this is their _ wedding _ day, it’s got to be _ memorable!_” 

“Honestly, Captain,” Rand put in quickly, “It’s great. I mean, if you said all that at my wedding I’d be delighted. Totally thrilled.” 

Kirk looked pleased. “Really?” 

“Oh absolutely.” She nodded emphatically. 

Kirk looked back at his padd. “Great.” 

Rand felt some of the tension drain from her body: next to her, even Spock seemed to slump in relief. 

Kirk carried on, “Let’s just go over it once more.” 

She felt Spock freeze and her face fell. 

At the same moment, the door chime sounded, and Kirk called out, “Come in.” 

As McCoy entered, they both turned to him. Rand called out with enthusiasm, “Doctor McCoy! How lovely to see you!” which overlapped with Spock’s positively effusive, “Ah, Doctor, what excellent timing.” 

McCoy stared at them both in confusion. 

Kirk said, “Bones! Listen to this.” 

Janice said quickly, “Well, if it’s alright with you, sir, I’ll just -” as Spock said, “I believe my presence may be required -” 

Kirk, eyes back on his padd, made a noncommittal hum, and they both fled. As the doors closed, Rand heard McCoy say, “What’s wrong with-” as Kirk began, “Since the days of the first wooden vessels -” 

The doors closed. In the corridor, Janice and Spock exchanged relieved glances before walking swiftly away. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, __Stardate_ _1998.16 __(__Terran__ Calendar: 26__th__ January, 2266)_

James Kirk approached the ship’s small chapel with a steady stride, nodding tightly to crew members as he passed them, and refusing to allow his shoulders to drop, or his pace to slow. The last thirty-six hours had been some of the longest of his career, and he needed sleep like he needed oxygen, but he had one last duty to complete. He wasn’t going to have to break the news – that task had already been performed by Doctor McCoy – but he needed to say something. Some words of comfort, some acknowledgement of their loss. 

The doors to the chapel drew smoothly apart, she turned to face him, and all the things he had been planning to say died in his throat. Not dying in vain. Dying to save his ship, his crewmates. None of it seemed adequate in the face of her grief. 

As she stood, he took a breath to say – something, _ anything_. Some pathetic ballast against her understandable distress. The future she had planned, hoped for, had been cruelly snatched away. Under his command. By his orders. He deserved to hear whatever she wanted to say to him. 

He braced for it, even as she took three rapid steps to close the distance between them. For a brief moment he thought she would strike him – and this close he would have been unable to prevent it – but instead she threw her arms around him and clung to him like he was her only refuge against a world turned dark. 

He froze for a long moment as she sobbed into his chest, then bought his arms around her, trying to offer what inadequate comfort he could. Against her dark hair, still styled prettily for her wedding day, he said hesitantly, “It never makes any sense. We both have to know that there was a reason.” He didn’t know whether the meagre comfort he offered was for her, or himself. 

Moments passed, then he felt her breathing begin to even out, and she released her grip on him, took a step back, and drew herself upright, almost into parade rest, visibly reaching for their training as a shield against her distress. His heart ached for her. 

She looked him in the eye as she said evenly, “I’ll be alright.” She nodded formally at him, and walked from the chapel. 

He stood in the near silence of the empty room. Even the background hum of the engines of the Enterprise – welcome as it was after the eerie stillness of their standoff with the Romulan ship - provided no comfort. He closed his eyes briefly, and almost swayed with exhaustion. Time to sleep. 

Almost back to his quarters, he spotted a lone figure in the corridor ahead. At least he could take pride in the way his crew had performed. Some of them, particularly well. 

He called quietly, aware that they were well into ship’s night, “Lieutenant.” 

Ahead of him, Uhura turned, and managed a smile, far weaker than her usual. “Captain.” Her eyes were hollow with exhaustion. 

He caught up to her, and stopped, “I wanted to say well done for today. You handled the move to navigation exceptionally, and you still performed your duties at communications, under tremendous pressure. Good work.” 

She smiled again, and it had a little of its usual radiance. “Thank you, sir.” He nodded, and made to move away, as she said, “Captain?” 

He turned back. She said tiredly, but with clear sincerity, “I wanted to say – thank you too. For today. For every day, really, but especially today. It’s - it’s an honor, sir.” 

Kirk blinked rapidly. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. When no response was forthcoming, she nodded, and walked away. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate 2005.08 (Terran Calendar: 27th January, 2266) _

At the sound of the chime, James Kirk looked up from his padd and frowned. The door opened and admitted McCoy who, spotting Kirk behind the desk, immediately crossed the small space and threw himself into the opposite chair. 

“Come in, make yourself comfortable.” Kirk said. 

McCoy leaned back and closed his eyes. “I will, thanks.” 

After a moment, Kirk said, “Is there something I can actually help you with, Doctor, or are you just here to bask in the comfort of my luxurious quarters?” 

McCoy cracked an eye at his surroundings. “You know, I think my quarters might actually be bigger than yours.” 

Kirk nodded. “Probably. I moved.” 

McCoy stared. “To _smaller_ quarters? What for?” 

“Closer to the bridge. I don’t know what pen pushing idiot thought deck nine was the right place for the Captain’s quarters. That’s extra seconds I don’t want to waste in an emergency.” 

McCoy looked like he was barely restraining an eye roll. “And the thought of spending five years in smaller quarters for the sake of a few extra seconds getting to the bridge didn’t put you off at all.” 

Kirk frowned. “It’s a starship, not a vacation spot. None of the accommodations on board are going to get any rave reviews.” 

“You’re not wrong there. If I swung a cat in my quarters I’d brain it on the wall.” 

“Exactly.” Kirk paused. “Bones, not that it isn’t fun to shoot the breeze with you, but - “ he gestured to his desk, liberally strewn with data padds, reports, and recording chips, “if we could maybe get to the point? As this is clearly a professional visit.” 

McCoy looked wounded. “What gave me away?” 

“For a Doctor, you’re terrible at small talk. Let’s have it.” 

McCoy sighed, and sat up straight. “Okay. How’s the weight of command feeling today?” 

It was Kirk’s turn to suppress an eyeroll. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually earned that psychology certificate, or if you just had a lucky hand at some late-night medics poker game.” 

McCoy snorted. “You should try being your doctor. Most people appreciate my charming bedside manner and subtle but perceptive eliciting of symptoms. You use it as an excuse to ignore anything you don’t want to answer.” 

“Chances of that working on this occasion?” 

McCoy merely stared. 

Kirk laid his stylus on the desk. After a moment, he said, “I’m okay, Bones.” 

As McCoy opened his mouth, he added quickly, “Really. You think I didn’t come into this knowing there’d be days like yesterday? Everyone questions themselves sometimes. Yesterday was one of the toughest days of my career, I won’t deny it. But I came through. The crew came through. It was a tough test, and I’m proud of them.” 

McCoy said, “And of yourself?” 

Kirk drew a sharp breath. “I lost a man. The other ship was destroyed. There should have been another way.” 

McCoy raised his eyebrows. “That’s a hell of bar you’re setting yourself there, Jim. Do me a favor, and don’t beat yourself up with it.” 

Kirk gave rueful smile. “Doctor’s orders?” 

“Youd better believe it.” 

“Anything else?” 

“I’ve brought your psyche eval forward a few months.” On Kirk’s expression, he said, “Don’t even give that look, Jim Kirk, it’s still well within standard operational cycles, it won’t raise any red flags. You said it yourself, this is a tough cruise. I’m just doing my job.” His expression was set. 

After a moment, Kirk said, “Okay, fine. Fine. At least it gets it over with.” 

McCoy grinned. “That’s the spirit. And speaking of psyche evals, how’s Spock?” 

“Fine, why?” Kirk looked suspicious. “Are you bringing his psyche eval forward too?” 

“Well, I wasn’t,” McCoy said cheerfully, “But since you mention it – I'll tell him it was your idea, shall I?” 

Kirk opened his mouth to protest this interpretation of events, then said thoughtfully, “Actually, it might not be a bad idea. He hasn’t had one since his promotion, has he?” 

“Nope.” 

“And he’s had a few rough days. Finding out the Romulans look exactly like Vulcans can’t have been his happiest day.” 

“I’ll say not.“ McCoy grimaced. “Don’t act like Vulcans though, do they? More’s the pity.” 

Kirk shot him a look. “Careful there, Doctor, that was nearly a compliment to Vulcans.” 

McCoy huffed. “Hardly.” 

Kirk smiled, then it faded. “Thought I might have some trouble there, with Stiles. Why the hell do people even join Starfleet if they’ve got a problem with non-humans?” 

“To be fair to Styles,” McCoy said carefully, “I haven’t noticed him having an issue with any other non-human crew, just Spock.” 

Kirk bristled. “Well, that’s _ worse _-” 

McCoy interrupted, “You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score, Jim. Styles is the President of the Spock fan club now. Practically genuflects when he sees him.” 

Kirk said feelingly, “He had better. I won’t stand for bigotry on my ship.” 

McCoy said cheerfully, “I’d better resign then. I can’t stand most races. That includes humans.” 

“I’d noticed.” Kirk said wryly. “The difference with you is that you’d put your life on the line to save a patient. Any patient. Even your worst enemy.” 

McCoy looked uncomfortable. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far-” 

“I would. I’ve seen it.” Kirk smiled at his friend. “Now, if we’re done?” He gestured again to his desk. 

McCoy stood. “Alright, I’ll leave to you it. Don’t work late. You need to catch up on your sleep. One night won’t do it.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” 

As the door began to close, McCoy called back, “Don’t think I won’t check on you.” 

Kirk smiled at the closed door. 

* 

_ Planet Exo III, _ _ Stardate: 2271.77 (__Terran Calendar: 5th March, 2266)_

Kirk sprinted out of the research station, and back into the tunnels they had traversed on their way in. He couldn’t risk moving too far from the station – he needed to be close enough for the _Enterprise_ to pick him up, but he’d be damned if he was going to stay there like an obedient lamb to the slaughter. He rounded a rocky outcrop, out of sight of the tunnel beyond, and stopped, breathing hard, straining for the sound of pursuit, the lumbering but inevitable tread of that seemingly invincible android giant. 

He glanced up to the cavern roof, as if it would be possible to look beyond the metres of solid stone, the planet’s atmosphere, and into the space beyond, where the Enterprise waited, oblivious to her Captain’s plight. He hoped he’d done enough, hoped that somehow, by some Vulcan intuition, the existence of which he denied, Spock would know, would simply _ know_, that this was not his Captain. He’d been quick enough to identify a double of Kirk before – would this one, level headed, identical in every physical way – be more convincing? _ It’s not me, Spock_, he thought fervently, _ it’s not me._

Behind him, back towards the lab, steady, heavy footsteps sounded, like a slow drumbeat of doom. Kirk’s jaw tightened and he glanced around. Next to him, an outcrop of stone looked to be less firmly attached than its fellows. He kicked at its base. This time, Ruk wasn’t going to find him unarmed. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2273.37 (Terran Calendar: 6th March, 2266) 1am ship's time. _

Uhura looked around the small cabin. Most of the crew on board shared cabins, as was the case on most starships, with single cabins being reserved for senior officers and department heads only. As Head of Communication, her quarters were her own, but Chapel, strictly speaking, should have been sharing. Glancing around, it was clear why she wasn’t - the space was tiny. Nevertheless, she said with concern, “Chris, do you want me to stay? I don’t mind.” 

Chapel made a visible effort to gather herself. "No, honestly, Nyota, I'm fine. I was just being - self indulgent."

Uhura squeezed her arm. "No, you weren't. You're grieving. Any and all reactions are fine." 

Chapel sniffed. “I thought – I thought it was forever, you know? Oh, I knew his work was important to him, but I didn’t mind that – it was important to me too. And we could have worked together. Until he decided he just – didn't need me. I’ve been such an idiot. All these years, I could have been making my own way, instead of supporting Roger – oh, I sound like a bitter, stupid, old woman.” 

Uhura hugged her friend tighter. “No, you don’t. You have every right to be angry. Every right to grieve. But Chris – you have found your own way – you're here, with us. This is where you’re meant to be, I’m sure of it.” 

Chapel drew back and looked at her. “But - my assignment was only ever temporary. I should be leaving when we reach starbase thirty-five.” 

Uhura frowned. “Why?” 

“I thought – we'd have been to the planet by then, and I’d either be leaving to join Roger, or leaving to - go back to Earth.” 

Some of Chapel’s usually perfectly quoiffed hair had fallen out of its careful styling and across her face. Uhura reached out and gently pushed it back behind her ear. “Is that what you want?” 

Christine looked away, biting her lip in thought, as she gave the question its due consideration. Uhura waited. After a few moments, Chapel said, “I - no.” She looked back to Uhura, then said with more certainty. “No, I don’t think it is any more. I like it here. I like the _Enterprise_. I like my work. And,” she added in a more spirited tone, “goodness knows Doctor McCoy needs someone to look out for him. He’d be working all hours if I didn’t chase him out of sickbay. Nanny Chapel, he called me the other day.” 

Uhura laughed. “Then I think you should talk to him. Ask him if he’d like to keep you on. I think I can already guess his answer.” 

Chapel smiled. “Me too. It’s really the Captain I’ll need to speak to.” Her smile faded and she pressed her lips together nervously. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to keep me on, after what happened on the planet.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I wasn’t exactly – crewmember of the year.” 

Uhura squeezed her arm. “You wanted to believe in Roger. Captain Kirk won’t hold that against you. And you came through for him when it mattered. That’s what he’ll remember.” 

Chapel smiled weakly. “I hope so.” She looked at Uhura affectionately. “You don’t just respect him, do you? Captain Kirk. You actually like him.” 

Uhura nodded. “I do. He’s the best I’ve served under. No question. It’s not like he gets everything right, and he can be sharp under stress, but – “ She laid her hand over chest “- his heart is in this, you know? With every one of us. He lives it with every breath – you can tell. You can’t fake passion like that.” 

She stopped, considering. “It’s - I don’t know – sometimes I feel, when I’m on the bridge, and we’re in the middle of something – some alert, or crisis – and he’s giving orders, and Commander Spock is giving him information, and they’re bouncing off each other, and everyone is on top of their game, it just feels electric, like there’s a kind of magic happening – oh, I’m not describing it well.” She sighed. “I just think – this is a special ship. It needs special people to crew it. So _ you _should stay.” 

Chapel, who had been listening intently to every word, her face serious, broke into a smile. Uhura found herself suddenly enveloped in an impulsive hug. Over her shoulder, Chapel’s voice said, “I will. I’ll speak to Len tomorrow. And I’ll beg the Captain if I have to.” 

Uhura squeezed her in excitement, then drew back, smiling, “That’s wonderful. And you won’t have to, I know you won’t. He can spot a good crewmember a lightyear away.” She stood. “This calls for a celebration. Drink?” 

Chapel said wistfully, “I wish there was some alcohol on board – well, apart from the Doctor’s ‘medicinal’ stash” – she caught Uhura’s eye and they both giggled “– I could use a drink right now.“ 

Uhura’s smile grew wider. “Ah. There speaks a woman who hasn’t spent nearly enough time in engineering on this trip.” 

At Christine’s frown of confusion, she laughed again, and pulled her friend upright. “Come on. Let’s drop in on Scotty.” 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2557.45 (Terran Calendar: 14th April 2266)_

Doctor Leonard McCoy stared across the biobed at the Enterprise's first officer. HIs medical instincts were telling him to call a halt to this. He let another moment go by, then when there was no sign of it ending, he spoke. 

“Spock? Spock, I think you should stop now.” 

Silence. 

“Spock.” 

Then: “_Commander_.” 

Spock seemed to come to himself with a jolt, pulling away from Van Gelder. 

On the other side of the biobed, McCoy was looking at him with concern. “Spock?” 

After a moment, Spock straightened, visibly gathering his composure. “I am well, Doctor.” 

McCoy narrowed his eyes. “You sure?” 

“Yes. But you were correct, the Captain may be in danger. We must contact the colony urgently.” 

* 

Uhura toggled the switches on her console and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Commander, there’s no response.”   
  
“Keep trying, Lieutenant. Use all channels, and do not desist your attempts until you receive a response. I shall be in the transporter room.” 

* 

Instead of heading directly to the transporter room, Spock returned to his quarters and knelt briefly on his meditation mat. The mind meld with Van Gelder had left him far more shaken then he had been willing to admit to the human doctor. He had never attempted such a thing with a non-Vulcan before, and resolved never to do so again. The human’s mind had been so distressed, so broken, that his own mental strength and equilibrium had been threatened. He would be of little use to his Captain without seeking to center himself. After a few moments, his pulse and breathing began to regulate and he prepared to rise. As he did so, deep in his mind, there was a faint stab of distress. He stopped in confusion. His meditation had been brief, but effective. He would meditate more deeply later and resolve the remaining distress, but for now, it was firmly walled away. So the source of the perturbation had not been his own mind. 

_ Jim? _ It could not be. He had no metal link with his Captain. And yet something had called to him in that stab of distress. He rose quickly and almost ran for the transporter room. 

* 

_Tantalus Colony, Stardate: 2558.35 (Terran Calendar: 14th April 2266)_

James Kirk was lost. His mind was shrinking away from him, frightened by the darkness that his usual strength kept hidden. He was alone. His friends were gone. His ship was gone. There was nothing but the darkness, the emptiness, and the despair. He struggled to remember. There were things. People. Places. They were important. But here – there was nothing. He was alone. They meant nothing. He was alone. They were nothing. He was alone. There was – nothing. He was alone. The darkness was endless and inviting. Oblivion. Escape from the endless, agonising _nothing_. Escape from – then, suddenly, there was something. A tiny spot of golden warmth. Kirk focused all of his attention onto it. It spoke of his friends, his ship. Of hope, and – _Spock? _

The darkness came again. But now he remembered. The darkness was strong, and relentless. But it would not win. He was James Kirk. And his ship was waiting for him. 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, 1am ship’s time. _

Kirk sat slumped at the end of his bed, resting his head in his hands and willing McCoy to be absent. 

“You’re sure you’re okay? No headaches? Nausea?” 

“Bones, stop fussing. I’m fine.” 

McCoy checked his tricorder screen again, then snapped it shut. “Yeah, because you’ve got no history in the playing the hero department.” 

Kirk shot his friend a look. McCoy sighed. “Fine. I’ll leave you to rest. But any symptoms – any at all, mind you – I want you back in sickbay, stat.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” 

McCoy eyed him suspiciously. “Okay. How’s Spock doing? He’s insisting he’s fine too, but I trust his assessment of his health about as much I trust yours.” 

Kirk looked up in surprise. “Why would there be anything wrong with Spock? He wasn’t injured?” 

“No, he - “ McCoy stopped. “He didn’t tell you?” 

Kirk sat up straight, said sharply, “I’ve barely spoken to him since we got back to the ship. He said he was busy. Tell me what?” 

“He probably is busy.” McCoy looked uncomfortable. 

Kirk stared at him. “Tell. Me. What?” 

McCoy looked guilty. Kirk snapped, “Bones.” 

“He used a Vulcan technique to – I don’t quite know how to describe it – read Van Gelder’s mind, I suppose.” 

“What kind of technique?” 

“I don’t know what it’s called. He just touched Van Gelder’s face, but their minds seemed to connect somehow. It was – he looked upset. Like, human upset. Not that repressed Vulcan kind of upset. Kept talking about being empty. And lonely.” 

Kirk stared at him. “_Spock_ felt that machine?” 

“Through Van Gelder, but - from what you’ve said – sounds like it, yes.” 

Kirk began to pace. “Why the _ hell _ -? Bones, that could have been incredibly dangerous. That was his _ mind _he was risking.” 

“We were concerned about _ you_.” McCoy’s voice rose. “Van Gelder wasn’t making any sense. We needed to know what he knew.” 

Kirk looked at him sharply. 

McCoy swallowed. “And I may have – talked him into it.”

Kirk opened his mouth. McCoy said defensively. “Yes, _ alright_, I know. I didn’t think it would be – like that. And it did tell us what we wanted to know. You were in danger.” 

“I was handling it.” 

“So I heard.” 

Kirk shook his head. “Unnecessary risk.” 

“I disagree. Spock’s fine. You’re fine. Thanks largely to Spock. So whilst I don’t think it’s an experience he’ll be in a hurry to repeat, all’s well that ends well.” 

Kirk glared at him. “I hope you’re right.” He ended for the door of his quarters. 

McCoy looked after him in confusion. “Where are you going? I just told you to rest.” 

“I’m going to check on Spock.” 

McCoy began, “I’ll come - “ 

“No, thank you, Doctor.” Kirk’s tone was sharp. “I think you’ve done enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

* 

As Kirk stepped into his quarters, Spock rose from his chair besides the desk and stood in what Kirk’s mind automatically identified as parade rest. Which in itself raised an immediate red flag. It had been months since Spock’s default reaction to his Captain was formality. 

Kirk waved a hand back towards the chair, said quickly, “Just a quick visit. I know you said you were busy. It won’t take long.” He dropped into the chair opposite the desk and after a moment, Spock sat. 

When Kirk didn’t immediately start to speak, he said, “In what way may I be of assistance, Captain?” 

Kirk shifted. “How are you feeling?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am well, thank you, Captain.” 

Kirk regarded him steadily for a moment, then said, “I just spoke to McCoy. He told me what you did. In sickbay. That – Vulcan mind reading technique.” He waited. When Spock didn’t respond, Kirk added, “Firstly, well, thank you. For – doing that. Secondly – I need to know – is that – dangerous for you?” 

Spock’s face had gone oddly still, even by Vulcan standards. Kirk said, “Spock -” 

Spock said quietly, “Kash-nohv.” 

“What?” 

“The technique is called Kash-nohv. I believe the standard translation would be: mind meld.” 

The words fell into a sudden and unexpectedly weighty silence. 

Kirk blinked. “Mind meld. Right.” He stopped. “Spock, you know I don’t like to pry into the personal lives of my crew. As long as it doesn’t affect your work, it’s your business. Same goes for anything that might be considered – culturally sensitive. And I’m sure you realise that there might be circumstances in which that technique could be - useful. But McCoy said it seemed like it was – “ he broke off, choosing his words with care, “ - unsettling for you. Not something you would undertake lightly.” 

“Doctor McCoy was correct. And I am unsure whether the unsettling nature of the meld was to do with my inexperience in conducting the technique with non-Vulcans, or entirely due to the disturbed nature of Van Gelder’s mind. I suspect something of both, but primarily the latter. I believe the technique would be easier with a more stable mind.” 

Kirk nodded. Before he could speak, Spock continued, “I am aware that the telepathy of Vulcans can be a source of discomfort for humans. You may rest assured, Captain, that I would never utilize the technique in any but the most extreme circumstances, and particularly not with you." 

Kirk blinked in surprise. “Spock, I - didn’t think you would. That wasn’t my concern. I just wanted to be sure – it wasn’t dangerous for you." 

“It would not be. In – usual circumstances. My mental technique is extremely sound, and I will conduct further research in the use of the technique with non-Vulcans, in case a similar scenario should arise again.” 

Kirk grimaced. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t. But yes, that would probably be wise.” 

Silence fell again. After a moment, Kirk said, “So- you’re okay?” 

“Yes, Captain.” Spock stared at him across the desk with a face that, even to Kirk, was pointedly unreadable. Kirk sighed. 

“Right. Okay, Spock. As long as you’re fine, I’ll leave you to your night.” He rose, and Spock did likewise. As he crossed to the door, the disappointed feeling that had been niggling at him solidified into a thought, and he turned back. 

“Why not me?” 

“Captain?” 

“You said that you particularly wouldn’t - mind meld – with _me_. Why not?” 

Spock blinked. “I was attempting to reassure you that I would not try to, for example, extract any classified information from your mind, or elicit any information you would not be comfortable with sharing. In a Vulcan-Vulcan meld, it would not be a concern. However, as a practically psy-null species, humans lack even the basic shielding necessary to conceal such things.” 

Kirk nodded slowly. “Could we be taught?” 

“I - presume so, Captain, yes.” 

“You might be wise to think about how that could done, Mister Spock. Vulcans aren’t the only telepathic species out there – it could be something worth knowing.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and walked back to his quarters. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2639.97. (Terran Calendar: 25th April 2266) 21.50 ship's time. _

Spock finished his report, shut down his monitor, and checked the chrono. Ten minutes until he had to meet the Captain and Doctor McCoy. Enough time to practice the song Uhura had persuaded him to perform in the rec room at the next opportunity. He had crossed the room and reached his hand to the instrument when the voice that was currently foremost in his mind sounded over the intercom. 

“Bridge to Commander Spock.” Uhura was all business, with no trace of the natural musicality that had been occupying Spock’s thoughts. 

He returned to the desk and activated the intercom. “Spock here.” 

“Commander, I have a personal call for you from Starbase Eleven.” Uhura’s voice took on a faint veneer of confusion. “She said her name was – Number One?” 

Spock blinked in surprise. That was a name he hadn’t heard in over a year. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Patch her through to my quarters.” 

As he sat, the screen flickered into life and her image appeared, a little older than his memories of her, dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, her strong features unusually pale. He was momentarily surprised at the emotional reaction her image evoked – he had, he realised quite suddenly, _ missed _her. 

She said, “Spock.” And stopped. For the strangest moment he thought her face might crumple, but she straightened and her expression evened out into what was almost a smile. “It’s - it’s really good to see you.” 

“I am also gratified to receive your call, Number One.” 

She huffed an almost desperate laugh. “Oh, you haven’t changed. You haven’t changed a bit.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “That is untrue. I have aged one point one five years since you saw me last, and eleven point six eight years since we met.” 

She laughed, more genuinely this time. “You’ll always be Ensign Spock to me.” 

“I would hope not. My performance has improved considerably since then.” 

“I always thought your _performance_ was excellent.” She glanced around, as if ensuring she was not overheard, then sang lightly, “I am the very model of a modern major general, I’ve information vegetable, animal and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, from Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical -’ she arched an expectant eyebrow at him. 

Spock didn’t need to look to know no-one would overhear him, and before his more logical mind could intervene, continued, “I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, -” even as he sang, his brain supplying the words with no effort, despite the decade since he’d even recalled the song in question, he studied her face. She was listening with a genuine smile, but it did little to disguise the paleness of her face, the dark shadows under her eyes, and the overall- _ emotionality _– of her demeanour. His level of concern, already raised since her face had appeared onscreen, ratcheted up a notch. Emotionality was a word he had never associated with Number One. She was the most Vulcan-like human he had ever met. She had taught him that it was possible to be logical, competent, respected and skilled at any endeavour, whilst also remaining open to the possibility of levity. A lesson that his current Captain reinforced with almost every interaction. It was, he reflected suddenly, one of his favourite human qualities. 

As he reached the end of the verse, she joined in again, “In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General.” As they finished together, she began to laugh again, but the sound descended quickly into a sob, and she covered her face for a beat before swallowing hard and meeting his gaze once more. 

Spock said gently, “Una, what is the source of your distress?” 

She took an unsteady breath. “Spock, I’m so sorry to be the one to - it’s - It’s Chris.” 

Around him, his quarters and the ship began to fade, and the world narrowed to her pale face on the glowing screen. She continued, and her voice was steadier as she relayed facts, “He was on an inspection tour of an old Class J cadet ship. There was an accident. A baffle plate ruptured, he got all the cadets out, but-” the words seemed to choke her. 

Spock said flatly, “The delta radiation. Captain Pike is dead.” 

She shook her head. “No, no, forgive me Chris, it might be better if he was, but he isn’t, he’s - he’s just – _ trapped_.” 

Spock stared, “In the ship?” 

“In his _body_." Her speech came faster now, some relief in being able to speak to a friend, "He's completely paralysed. All the - the nerves, the ganglions, whatever they are, are just – burnt out. They’ve hooked his wheelchair up to his brainwaves, but that kind of technology is still so experimental, so crude, he can communicate very simple commands: yes, no, but that’s it, they said his brain is actually okay, it just no longer has any control over his body, and Spock, they’re saying they can’t fix it, everyone’s so goddamn _ sorry _ all the time, and _ I can’t do anything._” She halted abruptedly and took a few deep breaths. “I’ve been ordered back to Earth. I’m supposed to be at headquarters, I leave tomorrow. I know the _ Enterprise _is close, I feel terrible just leaving him, I thought - “ she broke off. 

“I will visit Captain Pike as soon as I can.” 

She breathed out. “Thank you. Thank you, Spock.” 

“There is no need to thank me for performing my duty.” 

She gave him a sad smile. “It’s not your duty though, is it? Not anymore.” 

Spock said seriously, “It is a duty - of friendship.” 

She nodded, and looked away, blinking rapidly. They sat in silence for moment, then she looked back. “Spock, I’m sorry – I haven’t said congratulations, have I? The Enterprise has a new Number One, I hear.” 

Spock blinked at the change of topic. “Yes, I have been promoted to First Officer.” He added quietly, “But the Enterprise will only ever have one Number One, and she is not here.” 

She smiled at him then, with such affection that he wondered how he could ever have thought she disdained such things. “But the Enterprise will never have a better First Officer than she has now. He thought -” she grimaced “- he _ thinks _ so too, you know. He was - _ is, dammit _\- really proud. James Kirk has gone up in his estimation no end.” 

“James Kirk is a fine Captain.” 

She nodded; her expression suddenly fierce. “He’d better be. You deserve no less. The Enterprise deserves no less.” 

Spock said, “And we are, as you would say, in safe hands.” 

“Good. I’m glad. I’m - really glad.” The edges of her composure began to crack and she said quickly, “I’ve got to go – I'm sorry to have contacted you like this - I didn’t want you to hear it over damn subspace gossip or something. It’s not common knowledge yet, but they won’t be able to keep it quiet for long.” 

“Thank you.” Spock said sincerely. “Thank you for your consideration.” 

She looked at him, surprised, “Of course. I - think about the Enterprise all the time. They were good times, weren’t they? I’m glad - she still has you.” She straightened, and her expression formalized. “Goodbye, Commander, safe travels.” 

“Goodbye, Number One. Live long, and prosper” 

He had another glimpse of her sad smile, before the screen blanked. 

* 

Spock sat for a long moment, staring at the empty screen. Captain Pike - Christopher Pike - was paralysed. Injured beyond apparent hope of repair. His first Captain. His friend. A spike of sudden, penetrating grief shot through his chest. He rose abruptly, crossed to his meditation mat, and sank down. He could not hope to be of effective assistance to his former Captain without controlling the emotions that the call had raised in him. He began to regulate his breathing, allowing the emotions and thoughts to arise, be observed, and be released. Grief, anger, sadness, loss - 

_S’chn_ _T’gai__ Spock_

The cool, clear, alien voice sliced through his mind like a crystal shard, spiked and invasive. His eyes flew open, but instead of his quarters, he was faced with a rocky outcrop. He felt the air of an alien world, even as the voice, now behind him spoke again. 

_ Do not be alarmed. Your assistance is required. _

This view, and that voice, triggered an immediate memory, and Spock knew who he would see even before he turned. 

The Keeper of Talos IV was standing on another rocky outcrop, outlined against the sky. 

Spock glanced around. The illusion was perfect. He said carefully, “You are creating this illusion in my mind. I remain on board the Enterprise.” 

The Keeper inclined his head. 

“For what purpose? And how? The Enterprise is light years from Talos IV.” 

_ We are familiar with your mind from your previous visit to us. Your own abilities to project thought, whilst poor, are sufficient to make your mind easy to locate and contact, even at distance. __As to our purpose.... _

Another figure stepped into Spock’s vision. He recognised the woman, Vina. 

She said “Your Captain is in need of our help.” 

Spock felt a brief flash of alarm. “You refer to - Captain Pike?” 

She looked at him in confusion, “There is another?” 

The Keeper seemed to look inwards for a moment, then addressed her. _Yes. There is another Captain, with a connection to his mind._ He turned to Spock. _We have no interest in him._

Spock nodded, disguising his relief. “And what is your interest in Captain Pike? If memory serves, it was he who could be of use to you, not the other way around.” 

The keeper looked at him with the air of a college professor addressing a promising student being deliberately obtuse.

_ Our _ _ reasoning _ _ has already occurred to you. _ _ You are aware that our best interests, and those of Christopher Pike, are _ _ now aligned. It remains only to bring him to us. _ _ To grant him the freedom of which he is now deprived. _ _ The preservation of that freedom _ _ was the rationale for his former departure. _ _ Now h__is _ _ only _ _ chance _ _ to preserve it _ _ lies here. _

Spock nodded slowly. “Assuming I accept what you say, how could I be assured this is also the Captain’s will?” 

The keeper looked to Vina. 

She said simply. “It is not.”

Spock stared at her and she added, “Of course he wishes to come to us, but he refused to engage with us after our initial contact.” 

“Why?” 

The keeper said: _F__or the same reasons that have already occurred to you. The strictures of your people against travel to this planet. He cannot travel alone __and anyone aiding him would do so at the risk of their life. He is not prepared to __allow anyone to run that risk on his behalf__._

“But you came to me.” 

_ Your name occurred to him immediately as one who might assist. He forbade us from contacting you. _

Spock raised an eyebrow. “An instruction you have ignored.” 

_ It was based _ _ on illogic and emotion. _ _ Two attributes which you do not share. _

“He is, however, correct. The removal of Captain Pike from a secure star base facility to Talos IV will not be – without difficulty.” 

_ You are resourceful. You will find a way. And we _ _ stand ready to _ _ assist you. _ _ We will contact you again. _

The last thing Spock saw before the planet disappeared was Vina's smile. 

* 

"Spock! Finally!” As he entered the Kirk’s quarters, he was immediately hailed by McCoy. “We thought you’d got lost! The Captain here was ready to send a search party. But fortunately for you, the best part of the day is still ahead.” 

With a flourish, he presented Spock with a suspiciously multicolored beverage in a glass topped with ice and adorned with pungent green leaves. Behind McCoy, a smiling Kirk was leaning against his desk, sipping from the same drink. 

Spock sniffed the beverage curiously. “This is alcohol. Vulcans do not-“ 

“Told you,” Kirk said. He was still smiling behind his glass. 

McCoy looked wounded. “This is not merely _ alcohol_. This is the soul of the south. _ This _is a mint julep.” He grinned encouragingly at Spock. 

As Spock eyed it dubiously. Kirk stood and moved to them. “A toast. To the first year of our mission. May the next be as successful.” 

Spock raised his glass. McCoy toasted and added, “Although slightly less eventful would be fine too.” 

Kirk threw him a glance. “You were only here for half of it.” 

“Damn well_ feels_ like I was here for all of it. And then some.” 

Kirk clapped him on the back. “Hang in there, Bones. Only four more years to go.” 

McCoy sighed heavily. “I’m getting another drink.” He crossed to the desk. As McCoy prepared his drink, muttering something about the availability of fresh mint in space, Kirk took a step closer to his first officer. 

“Spock, you okay? You seem a bit - distracted.” 

Spock hesitated for less than a second. “I am well, Captain.” 

“Okay.” Kirk didn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, I’m here if you need anything.” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Spock, we’re off duty. _Jim_. Oh, and I suppose this is as good an opportunity as any for me to say: I told you so.” 

“Jim?” 

Kirk grinned. “Remember that conversation we had last year? The one where you said you didn't think you'd make a good first officer, and I disagreed? I think even you would be forced to agree that I've been _conclusively_ proved right." His grin faded to a genuine smile. His voice quietened as he said, "You're an exceptional officer, Spock. I might not say it much, but don’t think I don’t appreciate how lucky I am to have you. And not just as my first officer. As my friend." 

Spock stared into those brown eyes, so close to his. Relaxed, off-duty, in celebratory mood, James Kirk looked like a man who had achieved his life’s ambition, only to find it even better than he had hoped. 

He felt something tighten in his chest. He would not be responsible for the destruction of Kirk’s dream. And it was even more unthinkable that this life -this extraordinary, vibrant life – be risked for any debt that was his alone. 

Kirk’s smile had faded slightly. He said, "Spock, are you sure you’re okay?" 

Spock found his voice. “I am well, Jim. I am also - pleased to call you my friend. And know that whatever may occur, I have been, and always shall be, yours.” 

There must have been something unintentionally revealing in his voice. Kirk’s face turned suddenly concerned. He was about to speak when McCoy interrupted with his precisely prepared drink. “Gentlemen! Another toast.” 

After a moment Kirk looked away from Spock, and eyed McCoy doubtfully. ”I’m not sure you should have any more.” 

“Nonsense.” McCoy scoffed. “I’m fine.” He raised his glass. “To friendship.” 

Spock raised his untouched drink and Kirk did likewise, smiling again. 

Their voices echoed around the space.

“To friendship.” 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (T/W: some of the opening section could be interpreted as suicidal thoughts. Please don't read if that is upsetting for you. Skip to: USS Enterprise, Stardate 1880.62 (Terran Calendar: 10th January 2266))
> 
> Up next: Shakespeare, a shuttle crash, and Spock betrays his current Captain to save his former. (Otherwise known as: canon takes the beautiful friendship they’ve been slowly building and detonates a Chris-Pike-shaped bomb under it.)


	7. The Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene set after the Conscience of the King  
Scene set after the Galileo Seven  
Scenes set during and after the Menagerie, parts 1 and 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE the K/S scenes in the Menagerie. This is the post-episode scene that in season one re-watches I most wanted to see. Kirk is so quiet, and very, very controlled throughout the whole thing. He’s clearly deeply hurt and trying to hide it. There’s an almost amused bitterness to his demeanour for much of it – Iike he can’t quite believe that Spock used their closeness to manipulate him so well. 
> 
> If you haven't seen it lately, their last words (right before the post scene here starts) are: 
> 
> KIRK: Mister Spock, when you're finished, please come back and see me. I want to talk to you about this regrettable tendency you've been showing lately towards flagrant emotionalism.  
SPOCK: I see no reason to insult me, sir. I believe I've been completely logical about the whole affair. 
> 
> Which, on paper, reads like their usual end of episode jokey banter. But the delivery is: 
> 
> KIRK: If you think I’m just going to let this go, then you really have lost it. We need to talk. Now.  
SPOCK: Jim, I know you’re angry and you have every right to be, but forgive me, please. 
> 
> Then we get a look at Pike, then back to Kirk and then episode just ends! With Jim completely alone. Urgh, my heart. So I decided to fix it. Um. Kind of.

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2820.49. (Terran Calendar: 20th May 2266) 22.30, ship's time. _

Leonard McCoy leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh. His report on Anton Karidian, formerly Governor Kodos, was finally complete. Now he needed some food, a drink, and a long sleep. Not necessarily in that order. He was in the middle of talking himself into moving when his office door opened. 

The _Enterprise's_ first officer hovered in his doorway. If it had been anyone else, McCoy would have read his body language as ‘awkward’, but this was Spock, so McCoy filed it under ‘probably a bit tired but doesn't want to admit it" and waved towards the seat opposite. 

“Evening, Spock.” He kept the surprise from his voice. “I wasn’t expecting you, was I?” 

Spock frowned slightly as he stepped into McCoy's office. “How would I know that, Doctor?” 

“I meant – you know what, never mind. What can I do for you?” 

“I apologise for the lateness of the hour-” 

McCoy waved this away. “Don’t worry about it. As you see, still working.” He waited. 

After a moment, Spock said carefully, “As first officer, it is incumbent upon me to concern myself with the welfare of the Captain.” 

McCoy said slowly, “Uh-huh. You and me both.” 

Spock nodded. “Indeed. As such, I wished to elicit your opinion on the Captain’s mental state after the events surrounding the recent death of former Governor Kodos.” 

McCoy sat back and regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, as first officer, you have the right to view the Captain’s psyche evals. And any subsequent notes I might make. With the CMO’s permission, of course.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Only if I believe the Captain’s performance to be impaired, and that he represents in some way a danger to the ship. That is not the case.” 

McCoy nodded, satisfied. “So this isn’t really an official visit then?” 

Spock looked uncomfortable again. “I suppose you could characterize my visit as inspired by – concern for a friend. If you wished to emotionalise a quite legitimate enquiry.” 

McCoy hid his smile with limited success. “Well, you know me, Mister Spock. I’m all about the emotionalising.” 

Spock said dryly, “So I have observed, Doctor.” 

McCoy took a breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, as a fellow friend, I agree with your concern. I think this has brought up some stuff for Jim that he was quite happily not looking at. Ultimately, it might be a good thing. You don’t usually heal past trauma by ignoring it and hoping it goes away. But this is hardly the appropriate time in his life for Jim to be reopening old wounds either. I’m hoping that Karidian’s death will have brought some closure, and that will be enough for now. If not, he knows where I am.” 

“The Captain’s history in seeking assistance in personal matters is....poor.” 

McCoy huffed a laugh. “You noticed that, huh?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Just keep looking out for him, Spock. If Jim doesn’t feel like he needs our help, then it’s all we can do for now.” 

“Very well, Doctor.” 

There was a pause. When Spock made no attempt to move, McCoy said curiously, “Anything else? And you can sit down if you like."

After a moments hesitation, Spock did as he suggested. McCoy regarded him with barely concealed surprise. 

"I find myself confused by one aspect of the Captain's behaviour. I do not wish to bring up a potentially painful subject by raising it with him, but it occurred to me that you might be able to elucidate his motives." 

"As a fellow illogical human, you mean?"

"Your words, Doctor, not mine."

McCoy smiled. "Alright Spock, I'll give it a go. What did you want to know?"

Spock shifted uncomfortably. "I do not habitually make enquiries into the Captain's private affairs." He hesitated. 

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Okay. Given."

"During my acquaintance with Captain Kirk I have not observed him to have a significant interest in any kind of romantic relationship, other than under external influence against his conscious will."

"Also, sadly: given." 

"However, during our most recent encounter with Lenore Karidian, he gave a dangerously unstable individual access to main engineering and the bridge, whilst apparently intending to persue a relationship with her. As a acquaintance of longer standing, are you aware if this is typical of the Captain's behaviour when engaged in the pursuit of a romantic partner?"

McCoy blinked. "Sorry, Spock, are you asking me if the Captain is likely to let strange people on the bridge on a regular basis? I don't need to answer that, surely." 

"Not strange people, Doctor, people in whom he has a romantic interest."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Well, the two aren't mutually exclusive, but no. I don't know many people who can compartmentalise their professional and personal lives as thoroughly as James Kirk. To my certain knowledge, when asked his opinion by a superior officer, he once recommended someone he was dating be demoted. Needless to say, that relationship didn't last." 

Spock nodded. "That is - reassuring."

"Well, not for the person concerned, but I take your point. Spock, I have never, in all my acquaintance with him, known Jim Kirk's professional judgement be compromised by his feelings for someone. That what you wanted to know?"

"Yes, Doctor. Thank you." 

McCoy looked at him for a long moment, then added, "Spock, I can't tell you how Jim felt about Lenore Karidian. You'd have to ask him. I can tell you it was damn convenient that she trusted him for as long as she did, given that he was investigating her father."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting his affection was feigned?"

"No, i'm not saying that." McCoy sighed. "Look, Jim likes to think he can save everyone. And it bothers him when he can't. More than it should. I think if you asked him, he would say he had strong feelings for Lenore Karidian. But as someone who didn't win his psychology qualification in a poker game, I would say at least some of that was self-created due to the convenience of needing her assistance, and what we might inexpertly refer to as his white knight syndrome." On Spock's expression, he added, "I can tell you this for absolute certain: no woman, no _person_, for that matter, is more important to James Kirk than this ship, and this crew."

Spock said quietly, "I would concur, Doctor." For a moment he looked, McCoy thought with surprise, almost - sad. Then the moment passed. 

He said uncertainly, "Spock? That all you needed?"

Spock seemed to rouse himself from a reverie. 

"Yes. Yes, thank you, Doctor McCoy."

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2853.85. (Terran calendar: 25th May 2266)_

Kirk grinned at his two closest friends across the commissary table. 

McCoy frowned pointedly at him. “Stop smiling like that, I’ll start to think you like us.” 

If anything, Kirk’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re still here. So sue me.” 

McCoy turned in appeal to Spock. “Back me up here. Say something logical and depressing. Stop the Cheshire Cat over there before he strains a facial muscle.” 

Spock blinked. “It would be highly illogical of me to say anything intended to lower the Captain’s mood. HIs mental health is of the highest importance to this ship and crew. A sentiment with which you should concur, Doctor.” 

“Yeah, Bones.” Kirk’s smile showed no sign of disappearing. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to lighten up. Well, this is me, lightened. You’re both here, Ferris is gone, and all is right with the world.” 

“I changed my mind. I don’t like it the new lighter Jim Kirk. It’s disturbing.” McCoy turned to Spock, “And thanks for the support there, Mister Logic. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting your little fuel burning escapade any time soon either. Logical, my ass.” 

Spock began, “I have explain -” 

Only to be interrupted by Kirk’s, “He saved your life, Bones. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.” 

McCoy raised an eyebrow, then said archly, “Thank you, Mister Spock.” He rose, and before Spock had a chance to respond, he added, “But the way you two conduct yourselves on away missions, I've no doubt I’ll have the chance to return the favour soon. Now I’m off duty until beta shift tomorrow, so both of you do me a favour and try to stay out of trouble ‘til then.” 

Kirk said, “I was out of trouble, I was on the ship,” to McCoy’s retreating back. On Spock’s expression, he added, “What? I was a paragon of good behaviour.” 

“Commissioner Ferris’s communique to command described you as ‘obstructive, practically insubordinate, and verging on outright rude.' ” 

Kirk frowned, “Only verging on? That man was deaf to subtext.” And laughed at Spock’s expression. Then he rose, clutching his empty plate. “RIght, McCoy’s gone, I’m getting seconds. For once, that wasn’t half bad.” 

Spock was watching his Captain engage in brief conversation with Commander Darren, and was giving the exchange more attention than it required, so he wasn’t aware of the presence behind him until the soft voice said, “Commander?” 

He turned to see Yeoman Mears assaying a somewhat nervous smile. 

“Good day, Yeoman.” When nothing further appeared to be forthcoming, he added, “I trust you are recovering well from yesterday's events?” 

“Oh, er, yes. Sir. I mean, it was a horrible shock, losing Latimer and Gaetano like that, but I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you. Sir.” 

She fell into nervous silence again, so Spock prompted, “Then how may I assist you, Yeoman?” 

She shifted, then said quickly, “I just wanted to say, sir, that I didn’t agree with how Boma spoke to you, sir, and I told him so. Afterwards, I mean. But I didn’t want you to think that he spoke to you like that because, well, he - I mean, he's had a few tough postings, sir. Before the Enterprise, I mean. Got a bit of a bee in his bonnet about senior officers thinking the lower decks are expendable. But he's a good crewman, sir, and I wanted you to know that you're generally thought of very highly, sir. Amongst the crew. The old hands _and_ those of us who are newer. You, and the Captain. And I wanted to say thank you, sir. For - getting us home." She stuttered to a halt. 

Spock regarded her for a moment. He did not habitually concern himself with the opinions of others on his performance. He knew where his strengths lay, and where they did not. And if he had concerns, they were usually waylayed in short order by his Captain, who never hesitated to give credit where it was due. But it would be foolish not to acknowledge that he had felt out of his depth - if only for brief moments - aboard the shuttlecraft. Not with the situation, but with the reactions of his human crewmates. He would have regarded it as a near certainty that he had earned the undying enmity of all aboard - with the possible exception of Doctor McCoy - such was the illogical, emotional nature of humans. But that was not, apparently, the case. Despite living amongst them for almost two decades, humans continued to surprise him. 

Aloud, he said, "Thank you, Yeoman. Was that all you wished to convey?" 

"Er, yes, sir."

"Then you are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." She scurried away with every appearance of relief. 

Kirk, who had finished his conversation with Commander Darren, looked after her with curiosity as he regained his seat and dug into his second helping. "What was that about?"

"Yeoman Mears wished to reassure me that I am highly thought of amongst the crew."

Kirk nearly choked on his mouthful. "Did she?! Why on earth did she feel you needed reassurance on that point?" 

Spock took a breath. "I am unsure. Humans frequently ascribe emotional motives to me where none exist." 

Kirk swallowed his mouthful and smiled. "I know. Such vivid imaginations we have." He grinned affectionately at his first officer, and in the direction that Mears had exited. "Well, that was kind of her, I suppose."

Kirk watched his first officer out of the corner of his eye as he continued to eat. He’d been planning to have this conversation later, but at the look on Spock’s face, he swallowed, glanced around at the almost empty commissary, then said quietly, “You did good, you know.” 

Spock’s eyes flicked to him immediately, confirming Kirk’s suspicions as to his train of thought. “I lost two crewmen.” 

Kirk nodded. “And saved five. The landing party I sent were down there half the time and I lost a man too.” He set down his fork. “Spock, listen, I’ve read your report. Would I have made exactly the same decisions you made? Maybe not. Does that make you wrong? No. You did what you thought was right, and five people are back on this ship who the odds said should be dead right now. That’s a win, however you got there. Don’t beat yourself up.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I was not ‘beating myself up’ as you term it, Captain. My actions were logical throughout, and therefore I have nothing to reproach myself with at this time.” 

Kirk looked at him keenly for a long moment, then smiled gently. “Okay Spock. Whatever you say.” 

“Captain, I -” 

“You’ll make a good Captain yourself; you know. One day soon. If you want it.” He picked his fork up again and pointed it at his first officer. “No rush, mind, don’t be getting any ideas. I need you here."

A look passed across his first officer's face then, so quickly, Jim almost missed it. He was suddenly strongly reminded of their celebration on the first year anniversary of their mission, and how distracted Spock had been. He lowered his fork and said carefully, "Spock - that was a joke. You know if you wanted me to put a word in for you, at command, I would. I'd miss you like hell - but if it's what you wanted - you're more than capable - "

To his intense relief, Spock shook his head. "No. No, I - I have no desire to leave the _Enterprise_. Nor serve under any Captain but you, Jim."

Kirk said, "Oh. Good. Okay then." He wondered why that statement didn't feel as reassuring as it sounded.

And why Spock still looked - _am I imagining it?_ \- a little sad. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 3013.48 (Terran calendar: 16th June 2266)_

CHristine Chapel paced anxiously back and forward between Uhura's desk and the divider to her bedroom.

Uhura watched her for a moment longer, then said, "I can’t believe Mister Spock would do anything like this without the very best of reasons." 

Rand, perched on Uhura's chest of drawers, leaning against the divider, thumped her head against it in mute frustration. "You just told us yourself he did it."

"I know he did it." Uhura said patiently. "I just know there must be a good reason for it." 

Chapel stopped pacing and dropped into the chair opposite the desk. "Well I wish he'd tell us what it is. Leonard doesn’t know what's going on either. That's what's worrying me the most. Usually, when it comes to the Captain and Mister Spock, he knows what's going on even before they do. He doesn't hang out on the bridge for fun." Chapel dropped her head in her hands and rubbed her face. "Oh, you should have seen him when he came back to sickbay after ordering Mister Spock’s arrest. I sat him down and made him have a drink but I don’t think he even tasted it. Went straight out to meet the Captain." 

"I hope Commander Spock knows what he’s doing. I just don't understand why he'd -oh, it's all so awful." Rand’s face was stricken. "I’ve never seen the Captain like this. Never. He doesn’t speak to me, he barely interacts with anyone at all unless it’s to issue an order, I don’t think he even slept last night. He’s sharp with people, it's like someone pulled all the person out and just left the officer behind. He’s - devastated. Whatever Commander Spock is up to, he’s not in on it either, I know that." 

"Well, whatever’s going on, he wouldn’t end Mister Spock’s career and convict him." Chapel said with certainty. 

Rand nodded, comforted. "However he feels about all this, he’ll save Spock. They're so _close_ \- " 

Uhura stared at them both. “Chris, Jan – he won’t have a choice. If the evidence is true – and we know it is – he can’t go against it. In that room, he’s not a friend, he’s an officer, and a judge.” 

Rand stared back in disbelief. “But he can’t - I mean, they can’t make him, I mean –” she broke off, looking to Chapel, who was staring at Uhura. 

"Ny, are you saying the Captain might have to vote to condemn Mister Spock?" 

Uhura’s face was grim. "The way Mendez is going, it’s the most likely outcome at this point. Scotty said he’s not even listening to the evidence." 

Rand jumped abruptly down from her perch. 

Christine looked at her. "Where are you going?"

"To find the Captain. To see if he needs anything. To check everything in his quarters is as he likes it." Rand set her jaw. "If he’s going to have to do this thing, it’ll be with people around him who care." Without another word, she left Uhura's quarters. 

Chapel looked after her in distress. Uhura leaned forward and took her friend's hand. "It’ll be okay, Chris. I don’t know how yet, but it will, I feel it." 

Chris nodded, and squeezed her hand, before standing in her turn. Uhura stood too. Chapel said, "She’s right. I’m going to find Doctor McCoy. This’ll be eating him up." She took a few steps towards the door, then turned back, pulled Uhura into a sudden hug, then just as quickly released her and walked out. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate 3015.28 (Terran Calendar: 16th June 2266)_

Spock placed Captain Pike’s chair gently onto the transporter pad, and turned to the operator on duty. "I will handle the beam out, Lieutenant. Please return momentarily." 

She blinked at him in surprise, then said, "Yes, Mister Spock," before glancing at Pike, and leaving the room. 

Spock waited for the doors to close behind her. Then he knelt carefully on the platform, bringing himself level with his former Captain. He said, keeping his voice as steady as he could, "Captain. It is unlikely that we will meet again." 

He stopped, swallowed, then continued, "I wished to take this opportunity to express - my profound gratitude for the many years in which you acted, not only as my Captain, but as my mentor, and – I venture to hope – as my friend. Your support and often, your patience, allowed me to flourish in a way that I believe would not otherwise have occurred. You knew of my estrangement from my family, and saw fit to also provide - emotional support that I did not think I needed. I was - incorrect. And for that, and many other kindnesses, I shall remain always in your debt." 

He looked into Pike’s ravaged, immobile face. Nothing had changed in that fixed gaze, but moisture had formed at the corners of his eyes. The light on his chair began to flash. Once. Then again. Over and over. 

Spock stepped away, then stopped, watching the light. After a moment, as it continued to brighten and dim, he said, hesitantly, "Captain, do you recall a conversation we once had, about a Vulcan mind technique that allows people in physical contact to sense each other's thoughts? Somewhat in the manner of the Talosians, but less invasive." 

The light blinked once, then stopped. 

Spock said, quietly, "Would you – would you permit me to - " 

The light blinked once. 

Spock stood next to the chair and took a few steadying breaths. He had only tried this on a human once before, and had been surprised at its success. The experience had been – disturbing, but then the mind he had been trying to reach had been disturbed. This, surely, would be easier – the mind of a friend, albeit one who had undergone great trauma – and he would himself be better prepared this time. He had studied the ritual in more depth after the incident with Van Gelder. 

He reached an unsteady hand to the side of Pike’s face, and grounded it against his former Captain’s mottled skin. He repeated the words he had memorised. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, he felt his Captain. Heard that voice, and the rush of emotion that accompanied it was so strong it took all his discipline not to flinch away. _ Spock! God, Spock, why did you – I can never repay – _ It was not the calm, steady voice he remembered. This was the voice of a man who had known utter despair, and imagined he would never know anything else, only to be thrown a lifeline of hope. _ Your career, Spock, your life, I would never have asked you to risk - _

_ You did not need to ask, I did it freely. Because you were my friend. I - could not have told you so then. I can do so now. _

Pike’s gratitude, his joy, his disbelief that his imprisonment would finally be over, flowed across their connection. Spock shielded as best he could, but the power of it made him feel weak, and wonder how Pike had survived that tumult. 

_ I was always your friend, Spock, I’m sorry I never said so either. I’m sorry I never realised how – much you felt it. I hope Jim Kirk appreciates how lucky he is. Tell him to look out for you _ \- he felt Pike’s protectiveness, his affection - _ tell him the fleet captain said so. _

_ He is – angry with me. I fear he may not forgive me. _

Some of his captain’s old, dry humour seeped into his mental voice._ Of course he’s angry with you, Spock. He’s a Captain. You stole his ship. He’d be less annoyed if you’d stolen his body. But I know Jim Kirk. He’s smart, and canny. He’ll know how lucky he is to have you. He’ll get over it. Give him time. _

_ Captain, I – _ Somehow the right words wouldn’t come. He felt his own emotion welling up and tried to hide it from Pike. _ It is time. You must go. _

_ I know. _ There was anticipation and joy, mingled with sadness, and loss. _ Goodbye, Spock. Thank you is wholly inadequate, but – thank you. You will never know what you did for me today. How much it meant. S _ pock felt Pike steady himself, get a grip on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both. His mental voice was stronger when he thought: _ Do you remember when once we talked about fulfilment in life? I think I talked about career, about purpose. About making a difference. I was wrong, Spock. All that is important, but most of all – find happiness, Spock. Find love. And when you find it, don’t give it up. They are the times that will matter at the end. When all else is taken away. _He hesitated, then the mental voice came again. _Tell Una - tell her - me too. Always. And goodbye. _The depth of emotion that accompanied this request was so dense that Spock shielded from it automatically. 

_ I shall do so. And I shall heed your advice. Thank you, Captain. It has been an honour. _

Spock pulled his hand gently away from Pike’s skin, felt the warmth fade, the mental voice vanish. He walked unsteadily to the transporter console, and quickly activated the mechanism. He watched as the golden light took his former Captain, stared until every last glimmer had disappeared, then bowed his head over the console, and breathed deeply until he was certain all vestiges of the meld were gone. 

As he straightened, the transporter operator re-entered. He said, "Thank you, Lieutenant." As he stepped towards the door, she said, "Sir?" 

He stopped, turned back to her. 

She said, "It’s being said around the ship, sir, amongst the old hands, those that served with Captain Pike, that you were helping him. That you risked your career to get him here, where they could help him. There are a lot of us still loyal to the Captain, sir, and I know they’d all want to say thank you for that." 

Spock stared. "If there is any gratitude to be apportioned, Lieutenant, it must be given to Captain Kirk. It was entirely his decision to assist Captain Pike." 

She said, "Oh, I thought- " 

Spock said firmly, "Please correct any erroneous assumptions in that regard amongst the crew, and do not indulge in unwarranted discussion on the subject in future. Good day, Lieutenant." 

He stepped quickly from the room, and walked with rapid and precise stride towards the turbolift. As it slowed to its destination, and the doors opened, he walked with less certainty towards the Captain’s quarters, and stopped entirely outside the door. He looked at the name plate attached to it. Captain James T. Kirk. Unbidden, Kirk’s face came to his mind. Smiling at him. Laughing at some innocuous remark. Teasing him. Turning to him for advice, for – how had he put it? - emotional security. He felt a cold hand touch his heart and closed his eyes briefly. He had chosen this path. He had known the risks. 

And this had always been – a risk. What would be, would be. Kirk would forgive him. Or he would not. Christopher Pike was now able to live out his life in freedom, and peace. His debt to his former Captain and friend was paid. His aim had been accomplished. His life was not forfeit. His career was intact. This was the best outcome he could have hoped for. He stared at the closed door. But had he, perhaps, paid a greater price? One he had not, truly, allowed himself to consider? There was no logic now in fear. He touched the door chime. 

* 

Kirk paced his quarters, waiting for Spock. Surely it didn’t take this long to beam one man down to a planet from orbit. But then the time was almost welcome, because he still had no idea what he was going to say. Well, other than – the chime sounded. He almost jumped before catching the reaction and frowning with irritation. He walked over and stood in front of his desk before calling, “Come in.” 

Spock entered, straight and proud, and seemingly unruffled. Just seeing him made something in Kirk's chest ache all over again. He changed his mind about standing, and moved around the desk, sitting down, and lacing his fingers in front of him on its cold surface. 

Spock moved slightly to stand in front of the desk. “You asked to see me, Captain.” His posture was so rigid he was almost at attention. He didn’t sit, and Kirk didn’t offer. 

He said, neutrally, “It’s been a hell of a couple of days, Mister Spock.” 

"Yes, Captain." 

"I wanted you to know, I’m entering an official reprimand on your file." 

"Yes, Captain." 

Kirk waited. "Nothing to say about that?" 

"No, Captain. It is the least that I deserve." 

Kirk said sharply, "Well I can’t argue with you there." 

There was a silence. 

After a moment, Spock said, "Will that be all, Captain?" 

Kirk said in disbelief, "Will that be - " He stopped, took a breath. Then another. "Well since you don’t seem interested in asking, I’ll tell you anyway. Of the many breaches of regulations you’ve committed over the last few days, I can’t let commandeering the_ Enterprise _pass uncensored. Sets a bad example, Mister Spock, I’m sure you understand." 

"Yes, Captain." 

"Yes, Cap – you _ stole my goddamn ship_, _ Spock."_ It came out as a shout and he looked down at the surface of his desk. He'd planned to do this all calmly, all matter of fact, all professionalism. Exactly what had got him through the last few days. But it was proving harder than he’d thought. 

Into the tense silence that followed, Spock said, quietly, "Jim, I am sorry." 

Kirk’s head snapped up. "Are you? Because I think you’d do it again tomorrow if you had to." 

"I do not regret that my actions have allowed Captain Pike his freedom at the end of a life of service. I do regret that my actions have – impacted upon you." 

”Impacted upon me," Kirk quoted bitterly. "Well, they certainly did that." 

Spock began, "Jim, I am truly sorry that - "

"Stop it." Kirk stood. Began to pace. "Stop telling me you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it. Were you sorry when you took my voice recordings to falsify the orders? Were you sorry when you listened to me tell Mendez – _ over _ and _ over _ – that, no, Spock wouldn’t do anything like that, there must be another explanation? Were you sorry when you_ took my_ _ ship_? Were you sorry when I had to stand up at a court martial, end your career, and _ condemn you to death_? **_ Were you sorry then? _**" 

"Jim, please -" 

"How long had you been planning it? Goddammit, I _knew_ there was something wrong. Was Chris in on it? That must have been fun for you both. I’ve got this new Captain now, he’s way more gullible than you were, Chris, I’ll be able to take the ship from right under his nose. He trusts me implicitly; he’ll never suspect a thing." He took a steadying breath. Spock was staring at him in disbelief. 

Kirk continued, "You asked me – after - after Gary, you asked me to always let you come with me. However risky the path, however uncertain I was. You asked me that, Spock. And I have. I always have. But you didn't let me do the same for you. You didn’t give me the choice." 

"Jim," Spock’s voice was a plea, "You could have _ died_." 

"_So could you_. Spock, we take that risk _ every damn day_. It was my choice to make!" His energy, his anger, seemed to fade as he said bitterly, "And you didn’t trust me to make it." 

Spock said quickly, "Jim, you are wrong. _ Entirely _wrong. I did not tell you because I believed that you would. That you would be prepared to risk your life for my cause. I could not allow it." 

"Why not, Spock? That’s what I don’t understand. Why not? Would you have let _ Pike _risk it?" 

Spock said, without hesitation, "Yes." 

Kirk stared at him, hurt in every line of his face, until it slowly shuttered away. He said, quietly, "Right. Okay." He nodded, looked down at the floor, then seemed to gather himself and looked back at his first officer. "Right." 

Spock’s neutral facade seemed to tremble before his eyes. He stepped forward, into Kirk’s space, laid a hand on his arm. Kirk stared at him in frozen surprise. 

"Jim, you do not understand. Christopher Pike was my Captain, and my mentor, for eleven years. He was also, I know now, my friend. I did not wish to see him suffer when it was in my power to prevent. But he is not – you. I would have risked his life, in spite of his importance to me." His voice was utterly certain as he said, "But I _would_ _not risk yours._ I could not be responsible for your death. I was too - afraid to take that risk. I was a coward. And for that, Jim, I am - truly sorry." His voice wavered on the last phrase. "And I ask your forgiveness." 

Kirk was staring at him, eyes wide. For a moment he didn’t react at all, then Spock was pulled into a fierce and wholly unexpected embrace. He breathed in shock over his Captain’s shoulder, felt the warmth of Jim’s body, felt him take one breath, then another. After a long moment, Kirk said roughly, "Never again, Spock, okay?" Spock did not trust himself to speak. Kirk drew back, held him at arm's length. "Spock, do I have your word?" 

"Yes." His voice was hoarse, and he said again, with more certainty, "Yes, Captain." 

Kirk lowered his arms. "Good." He stood uncertainly for a moment, then pulled at his collar. "God, these dress uniforms. It’s like wearing a grater round your neck." He walked over to the desk, loosening his collar. "I’d like to give the person who designed them a piece of my mind." 

He reached down to the desk, shifted a few data padds into an orderly line. "I bet you need to rest. I should let you get to it." He sighed. “I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell the crew.” 

Spock began, "I do not req -" 

Kirk looked up. 

Spock said, quickly, "Yes. Thank you, Captain. I shall – retire to my quarters." 

"Okay, Spock. See you on the bridge tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain. Goodnight."

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reader survey (all five of you!): Are there any episodes between here and City On the Edge of Forever that you are desperate to see a post ep scene for? Because I've just finished the Amok Time chapter (all 15,000 words of it) and it's eating me up that I can't share it with you all RIGHT NOW, but I haven't written the chapters before it yet! So I might have to leave some eps out so that we get there faster. I have zero writing chill....
> 
> **Update: thank you so much to everyone who commented, you are amazing and I love you for being invested in this! So it looks like the next few chapters will go:
> 
> Chapter 8: Shore Leave, Court Martial, Space Seed, This Side of Paradise  
Chapter 9: The Devil in the Dark, the City on the Edge of Forever  
Chapter 10: Amok Time 
> 
> At some point I will delete these rambly authors notes so future readers think this was all beautifully planned from the start and not that I was winging it. Although in my defence I often plan things out, then when I start writing my muse looks at the plan and goes, "haha, no."


	8. Treachery, Faith and Future's Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to gush, and I’m not usually this self-indulgent (okay, I totally am) but I’ve been doing a lot of gratitude meditation lately, and I wanted to say how much I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read and comment, or leave kudos. It means so much to me. It’s one of the first entries on my ‘list of things to remember when I’m feeling down’. I’ve actually printed off a list of comments, and I read it when I’m sad, or doubting myself, or just wondering what the point is of, well, anything! 
> 
> Kudos or a comment might seem like such a small thing, but you are reaching out and making someone else’s life a little better, and I can’t think of anything bigger than that right now. Thank you xx 
> 
> (Oh, and there is a special place in heaven for people who comment on every chapter of a multi-chapter fic. It’s full of happy writers wanting to give you hugs and balloons and cake.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set during and after Shore Leave  
Scenes set during and after Arena  
Scene set after Space Seed.  
Scenes set during Court Martial  
(Yes, the plan I set at the end of the last chapter is already going off the rails.)

_ Shore Leave Planet, Omicron Delta Region. _ _ Stardate__: 3006.77 (Terran Calendar: 15__th _ _ June 2266) Ship’s time: 18.10 _

Kirk lay back against the nearest dune. The sand was warm beneath him, and the sun was warm above him. He closed his eyes and listened to the sea. The dunes around hid him from passing sight, and he breathed in the scent of real, unrecycled air in quiet delight, and a silence unbroken except for the waves and the breeze. He had no idea if this idyllic beach was also an illusion, and he didn’t really care. It was real enough to allow tension he hadn’t even known he was holding leach out into the warm sand. 

It had been incredible to see Ruth, but she had been right – their parting, painful as it had been, had ultimately been for the best, leaving them with happy memories of a relationship that had rewarded them both. In reality, of course, she’d never been here, but he nevertheless felt a sense of closure around their time together that he hadn’t experienced before. 

A large bird in spectacular shades of red and burnt orange flew overhead, and he watched it out of sight, shading his eyes, without bothering to raise his head. He regretted, suddenly, that Spock had remained aboard the _ Enterprise_. He would have had some comment to make on the beach, the colourful bird. He sighed to himself. The atmosphere between them was still – a little strained. Not on duty, not so anyone would notice, but certainly in their off-duty time.

On duty, Spock was making a superhuman effort to be the most unimpeachable first officer in the fleet, which was raising that bar to such an extent that Kirk occasionally wondered if anyone would notice if the Captain just didn’t turn up for a few shifts. 

He was resisting the urge to tell Spock to knock it off though, as the Vulcan seemed to feel he still had amends to make, and there was a part of Kirk that agreed with him. But he missed their easy camaraderie, their casual asides, and their chess games. He took a deep breath of the clear air and vowed to speak to Spock at the first opportunity. Invite him to a chess game. Make more of an effort to convey the message that all was okay between them. 

He’d been annoyed at the way Spock had manipulated him into beaming down, but now he was here, he had to admit, the Vulcan had been right. He had been pushing himself too hard. And at least partially out of a stubborn desire not to ask for help from the man who’d stolen his ship. Which, in retrospect, was starting to look a bit petty. And with no Spock to distract him, he’d just taken to ignoring the arbitrary time delineation between 'off duty' and 'on duty'. Which was probably what had led to him seeking pain relief on the bridge. Hardly appropriate behaviour, in retrospect, although there was a rebellious and slightly disappointed part of his brain that still wanted to know how effective that massage would have been with Vulcan strength behind it. 

He became aware of a blunt corner digging into his side, and reached for his communicator, laying it carefully next to him on the sand, so he’d hear it immediately if needed, and closed his eyes again. He was starting to drift, when his peace was interrupted by a whirring sound with which he was all too familiar. He heaved a mental sigh. Tricorder. Science, not medical. What part of _shore leave _ did his crew not understand? He raised his head and looked in the direction of the sound. 

His first officer was standing back towards the path, examining with rapt attention the bird that Kirk had noticed earlier. The bird itself had perched obediently for scanning purposes, and Kirk thought with dry amusement that whilst the rest of the crew had invented knights, and beaches, and old loves, his science officer had imagined – something to study. 

Then another thought occurred to him and he frowned. Funny co-incidence. That he had been thinking of Spock, only for the man himself to appear mere minutes later without warning, especially as he had clearly announced his intention to stay on the ship. He watched the figure on the path with sudden suspicion. Still, there was an easy way to tell. He sat up, bringing himself further into view, and called, “Spock!” 

His first officer turned, and saw him, and if he had been human, Kirk would have said his face fell. As it was, it just assumed an expression of neutrality, replacing the active interest that had been there before. He snapped his tricorder shut and came towards Kirk. When he was close enough to speak without raising his voice, he said, “Captain. I apologise for disturbing you. I will conduct my research elsewhere.” And turned back towards the path. 

Kirk frowned. If this was the planet’s version of Spock, created to give him a dry run at improving their somewhat strained relationship, this wasn’t a great start. He said, “Wait a sec.” He nodded towards the bird, now preening itself. “What are you researching? I told everyone to take leave. Even you.” 

The Vulcan turned back. “As you are aware, Captain, Vulcans require less rest than humans. And I was intrigued by the technology that allows this planet to produce such exact replicas. It is more advanced than that currently in standard use by Starfleet. I am attempting to ascertain the exact parameters of this improvement, with a view to submitting a paper to Starfleet command around enhancing the existing technology.” 

Kirk looked back towards the bird with renewed interest. “Well, that would certainly be useful. If we could replicate, say, engine components as well as this, it’d mean fewer trips back to starbases. We could go out even further.” 

Spock nodded. “Precisely, Captain.” 

Kirk looked back to him. “Okay, carry on, but - just take a seat first, there was something I wanted to say.” 

Spock hesitated. “If you are sure I am not disturbing you. Doctor McCoy indicated that you were – otherwise engaged.” He glanced around, as if expecting Ruth to leap out from behind the nearest dune. 

Kirk rolled his eyes. “Sit down, Spock.” 

The Vulcan examined the sand around Kirk with care, then selected an appropriate spot, and sat as requested. 

Kirk took a breath. “Right, look, I’ve been thinking about - well, us, actually. I know things have been a bit strained, and that's – Spock, what are you doing?” 

Spock had reopened his tricorder, and was scanning him. “You raise an interesting point, Captain. I had also been thinking of you before I stopped to examine the avian specimen. Therefore, it would be prudent to check, before indulging in unproductive conversation with a replica, that you are indeed James Kirk.” 

The tricorder whirred, and Kirk watched Spock’s face with wry amusement as he examined the readouts. “What’s the news? Am I me?” 

“Apparently so, Captain.” 

“Excellent. Hand it over.” He reached for the tricorder. Spock released it with a raised eyebrow. Kirk repeated the scan that Spock had just run. “How will I know if it isn’t you?” 

Spock leaned across to the screen. “The replication technology is excellent with the non-biological, but lacks depth when replicating lifeforms. There will be insufficient biological components to the scan.” He pointed to the relevant section of the readout, and Kirk nodded. “Well, that looks good. Vulcan and human biological components.” He snapped the tricorder shut and handed it back. “Good news, Mister Spock, you’re you too.” 

“How gratifying, Captain.” Kirk saw amusement in his first officers' eyes, and smiled at him, reflecting it in his own. It was, for a moment, like Talos IV had never happened, and he was glad of it. 

He said, suddenly curious, “What were you thinking? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow, “Captain?” 

“You said you were thinking about - me. Before you saw the bird.” He nodded towards the creature, who had settled extravagantly on its branch, and seemed to be perfectly prepared to sit there all day. “Is it real, by the way? The bird.” 

Spock looked a little sheepish. “It is not. It is, in fact, Vulcan in origin. I had been attempting to control the replication process by directing my thoughts.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. “Well, good job, one bird on command.” 

“It was meant to be a sehlat.” 

“Ah. I take it that’s not a bird?” 

“It is not.” 

Kirk found himself smiling again. “Well, good try, anyway. I mean, it is Vulcan.” 

After a moment, Spock said, apparently apropos of nothing, “Chess.” 

“What?” 

“I was thinking that – I would like to play chess. With you.” 

Kirk looked across at his first officer, whose eyes were on the sand. 

He said, “Funnily enough, I was thinking that too.” 

Spock looked up and met his eyes. Kirk gave him a lopsided smile. “I think I’m done being mad at you now. I mean, let me be clear: if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have you drummed out of the ‘fleet myself.” 

“That is - fair, Captain.” 

“Jim.” 

“Captain?” 

“Jim, Spock. You haven’t called me Jim since we left Talos IV.” 

“I – did not wish to presume.” He added quietly, “I felt that I had – forfeited the right.” 

Kirk didn’t immediately contradict this statement. He flexed his hand next to him on the sand, allowing the grains to run through his fingers. A moment passed, then he said, “It wasn’t stealing the ship, you know.” He looked out over the water. “It wasn’t even how easy you made it look. I mean, honestly, I expect that level of efficiency from you.” He shot his first officer a glance and Spock had the grace to look slightly abashed. Kirk looked back over the ocean. “it was – you not trusting me enough to let me in on it. I’d’ve helped. Somehow. Between us, we’d have figured something out.” 

“It was never that I did not trust you. I did. I do. I cannot conceive of a circumstance in which I would not. As soon as I was contacted by the Keeper of Talos IV, my first instinct was to come to you.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I found that I could not bear the thought of being responsible for the ending of your career. Although if that had been the only risk, I might have taken it. But your life would also have been forfeit. For me. For my cause. It was – too much to ask. Even at the risk of losing your friendship, it was too much.” 

Kirk looked at him. “And if you had to do it again?” 

Spock said immediately, “Knowing what I know now, of the ultimate reaction of Commodore Mendez, and Starfleet, informing you of the situation in advance would be an acceptable risk.” 

Kirk said, “And if a similar situation were to arise? In which you didn’t know the outcome?” 

“Jim, you cannot ask me to voluntarily put your life at risk.” 

Kirk stared. “You can’t be serious? My life is at risk practically every day.” 

“And my role is to mitigate that risk as best I can and ensure your safety. Not to wilfully endanger your life for my own cause.” 

“And my job is to do the same for the whole crew, Spock, you included. Instead, you put me in a position of having to condemn you to death. How would you have felt? If the tables were turned?” 

“It was to avoid that very situation that I took the action I did.” 

Kirk shook his head. “Not acceptable. I’m the Captain, Spock. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you need to let me make my own decisions.” 

There was a long silence. 

“I am sorry. You are correct. I allowed my attachment to you to influence my decision-making. I will not allow it to do so in future.” 

Kirk blinked. From anyone else, he might have taken that as a figure of speech, but from Spock? He said, curiously, “Your – attachment to me?” 

In the glow of the waning sun, he couldn’t tell if it was the light, or if Spock actually – reddened. 

He said quietly, “Jim. You must know. Why I could not risk your life. Why I would take any risk, even against your will, to keep you safe.” 

Kirk felt his heart rate kick up. “Spock, I - I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.” 

The Vulcan turned to him and for a moment, all Kirk could see was his human side. Vulnerable, and afraid. He said, concerned, “Spock? What is it?” 

Abruptly, and with no warning, his first officer’s face closed off, and he stood. “My apologies, Captain. I have disturbed you, and overstayed my welcome.” He turned, and almost ran for the path. 

Kirk grabbed for his communicator, and jumped up. “Spock! Wait.” He ran after his first officer’s retreating form. As he did so, the Vulcan bird, disturbed by their unexpected activity, rose from its perch and flew towards him. He jumped to one side to avoid it, and by the time he returned to the path, Spock was nowhere to be seen. Kirk swore to himself and ran down the path the way he had seen Spock go. The path rounded a corner, and split two ways. There was no sign of Spock in either direction. 

He was about to take the left path when a voice hailed him. 

“Jim!” 

He turned. Along the right path, Bones had appeared. He hurried over to his CMO. “Bones, have you seen Spock? He was just ahead of me.” 

McCoy frowned at him. “Spock's on the _ Enterprise_. Listen,” he seized Kirk's arm, and began to steer him back down the path, “You've got to come see this. Scotty's found this bar, it's a proper old-fashioned earth hostelry - you're going to love it. And the best thing is, the alcohol gets you drunk.” 

“Spock was here, I just saw him.” 

McCoy hurried him along. “He's on the bridge. I just spoke to him. I swear, the bourbon tastes just like -” 

“He's not on the bridge, Bones, he's here.” 

McCoy stopped. “_No_, Jim, he isn't. I spoke to him less than two minutes ago whilst I was looking for you. I contacted the _ Enterprise _to check on Ensign Towen. Uhura's down here, so Spock put me through to sickbay.” 

Jim stared at him. After a moment, he pulled out his communicator. “Kirk to _Enterprise_.” 

The reply was almost instantaneous. “Spock here, Captain.” His voice was entirely level, and completely neutral. There was no sign of the distress that had coloured it only moments before. 

Kirk swallowed, took a breath. “Everything alright up there, Mister Spock?” 

“All is well, Captain. There is nothing to report. I trust your shore leave is proving satisfactory.” 

Kirk rubbed a hand across his forehead. _ The damn tricorder was a fake too. _ Aloud, he said, _ “ _Yes, it's, er, fine.” He forced his voice to take on a lighter tone. “No chance of you joining us down here? Doctor McCoy was about to introduce me to the local hostelry.” 

Spock's voice took on a more glacial tone. “As tempting as that sounds, Captain, I would prefer to remain on board ship.” 

Kirk said, “Right. Right you are, Mister Spock. I shall - check in later. Kirk out.” 

When he lowered his communicator, McCoy was looking at him, eyebrows raised. “So - Spock was here, was he?” 

Kirk avoided his gaze, looking back the way McCoy had come. “Where the hell is that bar?” 

* 

Two hours and some bourbon later, Kirk was feeling rather more relaxed and wondering why he didn’t take shore leave more often. The tavern McCoy had raved about had lived up to its billing. He’d spent a pleasant few hours drinking, laughing, and chatting casually with his CMO, and Scotty, and Darren, and various other crewmembers who had come and gone. Now the place was empty, the shadows had lengthened, and an open fire had flared into life next to them, chasing away what had almost been a chill. Kirk stretched out towards it with a contented sigh. Next to him, McCoy sipped at his bourbon with a similar air of satisfaction. 

Kirk glanced at his CMO, then a thought occurred, and he shifted. “Bones?” 

“Hm-hmm?” 

“Don’t misconstrue this as me not enjoying your company, but what happened to Yeoman Barrows? I rather formed the impression that you two would be spending some quality time together on this leave.” He arched an eyebrow at his CMO. 

McCoy smiled back at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jim, but if it was a choice between leave with you and leave with her, you’d be Billy No-Mates so fast you wouldn’t know what hit you. As it happens, I’m meeting her in -” he checked an ornate clock on the wall "- forty-five minutes. She was press ganged by Uhura, Chapel, and Rand this afternoon. Apparently, this planet has a spa.” 

“Well, that explains it then.” 

“Explains what?” 

Kirk lifted the bourbon bottle. “You, not pulling your bourbon weight. I’ve drunk more than half of this.” 

“A gentleman does not meet a lady drunk.” 

“Quite right. Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

McCoy snorted. “That leaves me with a frighteningly wide field of endeavour.” 

Kirk tried valiantly to look offended, then laughed. “You’re the one with the date. I shall just sit and get sadly drunk on my own.” 

“You should have asked Ruth to stick around. I don’t understand why you didn’t.” 

Kirk swirled his drink, and smiled, a bit sadly, McCoy thought. “It was – amazing to see her again. Really fantastic. It gave me the kind of closure I didn’t think I needed, but if she’d stuck around any longer- “ He stopped. 

“If she’d stuck around?” McCoy prompted. 

“I might have been tempted to message her. The real her. Back on Earth.” 

“Ah.” 

“And it ended right. I see that now. For both of us.” 

McCoy nodded slowly. They sipped their drinks in companionable silence, until McCoy said thoughtfully, “So in the absence of Ruth, your mind threw up – your Vulcan science officer? I don’t even want to think about what that says about your love life.” 

Kirk stared at him for a second, then laughed. “Okay, you’re right. That is pathetic. Although, it’s funny, for a moment I did think - “ he broke off, good humour subsiding slightly. 

McCoy said, “What?” 

‘Nothing. It’s - nothing.” 

McCoy watched him expectantly, sipping his bourbon. 

After a moment, Kirk said, “We were just talking. About – what happened with Chris. And then – oh, it’s ridiculous.” He took another swig of his drink. 

McCoy said patiently, “_What’s _ridiculous?” 

“There was a moment, when I thought – I mean, the atmosphere was like – he was about to – well, declare his undying love or something.” 

McCoy stared at him for a long, disbelieving moment, then started to laugh. He laughed so hard he shook, and had to put his drink down to avoid spilling it. 

Kirk said, pre-emptively, “Oh, shut up.” 

McCoy said, still grinning, “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Of all the people on that ship to be secretly in love with you, you went straight for the _ Vulcan_. Ego, thy name is James TIberius Kirk.” He started to laugh again. 

“I did say shut up.” 

“I heard, I just ignored you.” McCoy grinned. He picked up his bourbon, took another sip, and his expression grew thoughtful. He waved his drink expansively. “But the question we should be asking here, is _why_ would your subconscious suggest that Spock is in love with you? Is it because - you’d like him to be?” 

He eyed Kirk with a half amused, half serious, expectant expression. 

Jim frowned. “Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to tell you my business if you’re going to be idiotic about it.” 

“I’m not being idiotic.” McCoy sipped his drink again, eyeing Kirk over the glass. Then added in his most innocent tone, “Maybe _you’re_ secretly in love with _him_.” 

Kirk gaped at him, before saying, in the voice of one explaining to the very hard of thinking, “I. Am Not. In Love. With Spock.” 

McCoy said mildly, “If you say so.” 

“I do say so. And anyway, it’d be pretty awful if I was.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh come on, Bones, let me count the ways!” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “He’s my first officer, he’s Vulcan, so he denies having emotions, let alone feeling them -“ 

“Yeah, but we both know that's –” 

“Did I mention the whole ‘chain of command’ issue? Because it bears repeating.” 

“Yes, but - “ 

“Hold on, I’m not done.” 

“Well, I think he’d be good for you.” 

Kirk stared. “Good for me?!” 

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think he can be the most annoying individual ever placed in the galaxy to shorten my lifespan. He’s irritating, supercilious, stuck up, so sharp he might cut himself one of these days, he can be cold as hell, although that ‘no emotions’ thing is the biggest crock of –” 

“You’re really selling this-” 

“But I’ve never seen you smile so much as you do around him. He’s smart enough to dig you out of whatever trouble you’ve got into. He balances you. And whatever else he is, he’s loyal. And for some inexplicable reason he’s decided to dedicate all that intelligence and loyalty to you. And don’t tell me it’s just the service. What he did for Pike wasn’t the service. And you don’t think he’d do more for you? Because I do. And you can’t keep condemning him for it, Jim. Not when that kind of loyalty might keep you alive one day.” 

There was silence for a few moments. 

Then Kirk said, “You've had too much to drink. I can tell, because you've forgotten you’re not supposed to like him.” 

“Doesn’t make me wrong.” 

There was another silence. 

Then Kirk said, abruptly, “Speaking of Spock, I looked out the security footage. Of you arresting him. I think I need to send you on some sort of command refresher course. It was the least convincing detainment of a fellow officer I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing he went quietly.” 

McCoy glared at him. “Don’t you _ dare_. It was – I was - under significant pressure.” 

Kirk said, “Well, don’t make idiotic pronouncements about me and Spock then.” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Shut up and drink your bourbon.” 

* 

Two days later, back aboard ship, Kirk sat in another companionable silence, this time with the subject of the previous conversation. Spock was sat on the opposite side of his desk, working quietly through some ship’s business. He had accepted Kirk’s invitation to do so with alacrity, and the atmosphere between them had been easy, more like it used to be. They finally seemed to have put Talos IV, and the fate of Chris Pike, behind them. 

As he absently watched Spock work, his mind began to wander from the report in his hand, and the talk with Bones in the tavern came back to him. It crossed his mind to relay something of the incident. Bones had found it funny. Spock might even find it amusing, in that quiet Vulcan way of his. _ Remember that shore leave planet, well I saw you, and you won’t believe - _

Except, sitting here with the real Spock, watching his dark eyes scan quickly across the padd in front of him, absorbed in that air of competence and efficiency he seemed to generate so effortlessly, it somehow didn’t seem funny anymore. Even though it was still beyond ridiculous, really. 

The light cast half of Spock’s face into shadow, catching his dark hair and cheekbones on the side nearest to his Captain. Bones was right. The idea that Spock would be in love with him was hubris of the highest order. Even if he wanted to be true. Which he didn’t. Obviously. For all the reasons he had listed, and more. 

Kirk sighed to himself. He really shouldn’t leave shore leave so long next time. He turned his attention back to his report. 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, _ _ Stardate _ _ : 3380.48 (Terran Calendar: 6 _ _ th _ _ August 2266) Ship’s time: 16.10 _

“Your Captain is losing his battle. We would suggest you make whatever memorial arrangements, if any, which are customary in your culture. We believe you have very little time left.” 

At Spock’s side, McCoy cried out, “We appeal to you! In the name of civilization, put a stop to this.” 

Spock’s mind deplored the Doctor’s open emotionality, even as his heart applauded every word, and he looked to the screen for a response. After a chilling moment of silence, the voice came again: 

“Your violent intent and actions demonstrate that you are not civilized. However, we are not without compassion. It is possible you may have feelings toward your Captain. So that you will be able to prepare yourself, we will allow you to see and hear what is now transpiring.” 

Spock gripped the arms of the command chair, as the screen wavered and for the first time in three point seven hours, he set eyes on James Kirk. As his Captain limped across the terrain and threw himself down against the rock, Spock tried to judge his capacity. He was injured. His physical capability would be significantly impaired. He was tired. His reaction times would be slower. His two primary advantages against stronger opposition, speed and cunning, would therefore be significantly reduced. The Metrons were correct. The chances of his Captain surviving his next encounter were – not encouraging. Even the thought caused a stab of pain through his chest. He did not calculate the odds. He must center himself – he _ must _be of use to Jim. 

An old Earth expression his mother had employed flitted through his mind. _ Where there’s life, there’s hope. _ He could not see the hope in this situat– the screen caught his attention. The rock against which Kirk was leaning. That mineral deposit looked like – potassium nitrate. At the moment his Captain first appeared on screen, he had also seen – he was seventy-four percent certain – sulphur. With that combination, it might be possible to make a crude, but effective weapon. An old Earth weapon, in fact. Would Jim know? He had heard his Captain speak of old Earth military traditions and weapons in the past. He stared hard at the man on the screen, willing him to remember. 

_Gunpowder, Jim._ **_Gunpowder_**. 

* 

Kirk slumped against the rock, and stared again at the mineral deposit. Sulphur. Something about sulphur. Something important. A word. An old word. Why the hell couldn’t he remember? Tired. Too damn tired. He took a steadying breath. From out of nowhere, the word appeared, as if whispered directly into his mind. 

**_ Gunpowder_**. 

A smile slowly formed on his face. 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, Same day, Ship’s time: 22.30 _

“I will have you in check in four moves, Captain.” 

Kirk stretched uncomfortably, rotating his shoulder, and Spock looked at him with concern. “Perhaps you should see Doctor McCoy, Captain, if you are in discomfort.” 

Kirk shook his head. “No, I’m fine. The Metrons fixed me up. Honestly,” he gave Spock a rueful half smile, “I think it might be psychosomatic. Like my body can’t believe I went through all that and I’m completely okay.” 

“That would be – not illogical, Jim.” 

Kirk’s smile became genuine. “I appreciate that, Mister Spock.” 

He reached for a piece on the board, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk withdrew his hand, checked the board again, and made a different move. “Sorry. Tired.” 

“I should let you rest.” 

“Stay, and finish the game first.” 

There was no command in Kirk’s tone, but Spock reached for his piece anyway, placing it into position next to his Captain’s rook. He waited for Kirk to make the obvious move. 

After a moment, Jim said, still looking at the board. “I thought I was going to die down there. I was - pretty angry about it. But I was glad – _really _glad – that you had the _Enterprise_. I couldn’t imagine leaving her with anyone else.” 

Spock looked at the man opposite him, whole and healthy, and remembered the terror that had seized his heart when the Metrons had announced Kirk’s imminent death. Aloud, he said, “Fortunately, your ingenious and efficacious actions ensured I was not in command for long.” 

Kirk’s slight air of melancholy faded, and he looked at his first officer with a smile. “Sorry about that.” 

“I would have it no other way, Captain.” 

His obvious sincerity softened Kirk’s smile. It occurred to Spock, for the first time, how unbearable the reality that had briefly confronted him on the bridge – one without James Kirk – would truly be. Never seeing that smile again would be a loss the depth of which he did not feel presently able to measure. 

Kirk said quietly, “You were right, you know. About haring off after the Gorns, seeking immediate revenge for the loss of all those people. Maybe not - my best call.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “It was a tactically sound decision. It was indeed possible that the ship could have been testing our defences in preparation for a larger attack.” 

“But it wasn’t, though, was it? In the end, it was mercy that won the day. I’ll bear that in mind, in future.” 

To Kirk’s utter surprise, Spock quoted quietly, “The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: it blesseth him that gives and him that takes. It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings.” 

Kirk blinked himself out of the reverie Spock’s voice had caused. “That’s Shakespeare? Is he - popular on Vulcan?” 

“He is. In spite of the unfortunate attitudes that occasionally pervade his work – a product of the time in which he lived – he is seen as a human writer without equal, and one whose work provides valuable insights to those wishing to better understand the human condition, and indeed, humans in particular.” 

Kirk put his head on one side. “I’m not sure how to feel about that. There’s a lot of violence in his plays.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “There is a great deal of violence in Earth’s history. But his plays also contain humanity's most positive qualities. Not simply mercy, but amongst many: inspiration, courage, resilience, wisdom, creativity, and – an extraordinary capacity to love.” 

“Not qualities unique to humans, though.” Kirk was smiling at him again. 

“Indeed not. But in my time amongst humans, I have seen them - frequently demonstrated.” 

Kirk was looking at him fondly. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might inspire those qualities in the humans you’ve met? 

Spock blinked. “I find that notion - an unlikely one, Captain.” 

Kirk laughed softly, and reached for his chess piece. “If you say so, Mister Spock.” 

A thought occurred, and he said, “Who is the Vulcan equivalent? Not a playwright, necessarily, but if I wanted to understand Vulcans better through a great writer in your history, who would I look to?” 

Spock said immediately, “Surak. His writings, at the time of our awakening, encapsulate all that was best in the passions of the world we left behind, and all that would be greatest in the world we strive to achieve.” 

“I’d like to read him sometime.” 

Spock said, a little hesitantly, “I have a book of his most famous teachings in my quarters. It is in standard, as it was my mother’s. You would be - welcome to borrow it, if you wished.” 

“Really?” Kirk looked pleased. “Thank you. That’d be – well, thank you. I look forward to reading it sometime.” 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 3570.94 (Terran calendar: 1__st_ _September__ 2266) Ship’s time: 22:55_

“Well, I can’t believe she’s gone.” Chapel dealt each hand, and laid the remaining cards face down in the center of the table. 

“I can’t believe she went with _ him_.” Uhura’s face was expressive as she picked up her cards. “I mean – stuck on a planet with a man who thinks he’s God’s gift. For the rest of your life. _ No, _thank you.” 

Rand said bitterly, “She always did think she was too good for this ship." 

Chapel threw her a chastising glance. “Now that’s not totally fair, Jan.” 

“Yes, it is.” Rand said firmly. “Don’t take her side, she nearly got the Captain killed.” 

“And she saved him.” Chapel was sorting through her cards. 

“Only after she endangered his life.” Rand muttered resentfully. “Like his job isn’t hard enough.” She picked up her hand. 

Uhura hid her smile. After their difficult start, Rand was now more fiercely protective of James Kirk than anyone else on the crew. Her job meant she occasionally saw what he kept hidden from everyone else – moments of tiredness, of vulnerability, and she often went above and beyond the call to make sure nothing bothered the Captain that wasn’t directly related to the running of the ship. Uhura briefly amused herself by imagining the scenes if Khan had decided to take Janice Rand, instead of Marla McGivers. He would, she decided, have given her back very quickly. 

Rand shuffled her cards into a new order, and sighed. “Well, at least they’re gone. Good riddance.” 

Uhura laid down a card, and picked up another from the stack. She said thoughtfully, “Do you think the Captain did the right thing?” 

Rand looked at her in surprise. After herself, Nyota Uhura was the least likely person to invite criticism of James Kirk. “What do you mean?” 

Uhura frowned. “I’m not sure. They hijacked the ship. They would have killed him, if not for Marla. And Mister Spock, then all of us. And he just – let them go.” 

“Hardly let them go. They won’t be getting off that planet any time soon.” Chapel discarded one card and picked up another. 

“I guess not.” Uhura looked dissatisfied. “But - you can't trust a man like Khan. He’d wouldn’t hesitate to burn his own house down with you inside if he wanted you dead.” 

“That’s a cheerful thought.” Chapel was looking at her, concerned. 

Uhura smiled at her. “Oh, I know, I’m being dramatic.” She touched her cheek, where Chris had spent sometime earlier returning her skin to its usual flawless state. 

“If it’s any consolation, he went back and forth on it with Mister Spock for ages.” Rand took a card in her turn. “In fact, it was Mister Spock who found their planet.” Rand discarded quickly, and added, “They talked about it for at least an hour. Didn’t even play chess.” 

Chapel said interestedly, “What did Mister Spock think?” 

“Well, I was in and out, but -” Rand clicked her tongue in disappointment at Uhura’s discarded card. “ - from what I could gather, Mister Spock wanted to turn them into Starfleet security at the next starbase, but the Captain talked him round.” 

Uhura smiled fondly. “Of course, he did.” 

Rand smiled back, as Chapel picked up a card. Rand said, “You know I wouldn’t talk about this to anyone else, but they are _ terribly _sweet sometimes.” 

Chapel hummed at her hand. “Who are?” 

“The Captain, and Mister Spock.” 

Chapel looked up in surprise. “_Sweet_? How?” 

Rand said, “It’s nothing specific, really, it’s just, when they’re off duty, and it’s the two of them, and I’ll pop in for something, and they’re so wrapped up in their game, or their conversation, or whatever, it’s like they forget I’m there - .” 

Uhura laughed in sympathy. “Honestly, when he’s talking to Mister Spock, I sometimes think the Captain forgets the entire _bridge __crew_ is there.” 

Chapel stared at them in shock. “Are you two saying that the Captain is – has – with Mister _Spock_?” 

“Not like that, Chris,” Rand gave her a look of disapproval, “drag your mind out of the gutter. Not everyone wants to sleep with Mister Spock.” Uhura giggled and Chapel threw her a glare, and poked her with her foot under the table. 

“To be fair though,” Uhura said, recovering, “I think the number who _would_ want to is pretty high. And I’d _ definitely _include the Captain.” 

“Chris, throw a card down or we’ll be here all night.” Rand pointed to Chapel’s hand, still holding one too many cards. “And the Captain would never be so unprofessional. I’ve heard him talk about ship board romances. He doesn’t approve.” 

“You’re just saying that because he talked you out of dating Lieutenant Roach.” Uhura tutted in her turn at Chapel’s discarded card. 

Chapel, for her part, was staring in disbelief at Rand. “You discuss your love life with the_ Captain?’ _

“I do not!” Rand was indignant. “But he asked me where I’d put one of his data discs once, and I couldn’t remember – he has so many – so I went to check, only I was ready for my date, and he noticed, obviously - “ 

“I picked the dress.” Uhura interrupted proudly. 

Rand picked up a card. “Right, so naturally he asked what the occasion was, so I had to tell him, and then he went - “ she pulled a polite Kirk-esque face, “‘Hmm.’ So of course I had to ask him what ‘hmm’ meant,” she threw down a card, “and, well, as it turned out, when he served on the Farragut -” 

“Long story short,” Uhura put in, “He’s vetting Janice’s dates.” 

“Oh, he is _not_.” Rand swatted her with her cards. “He just had some pertinent information about Lieutenant Roach, was all. Anyway, my _ point _ was, that even if the Captain did want to sleep with a member of the crew – up to and _ including _ our first officer, he’s too much the professional to actually do it.” 

Uhura said in a singsong voice, “Five years is a long time,” laughed at Rand’s disapproving expression and held her hands up. “I’m just saying, if someone looked at me the way the Captain looks at Mister Spock, and didn’t act on it in _five_ _years_, I’d be – let’s say - _disappointed_.” 

Chapel frowned. “But even if the Captain did - I mean, Mister Spock is _ Vulcan_. He wouldn’t - he just wouldn’t be interested.” 

Uhura made a humming noise of consideration. “Who knows what’s going on under that controlled Vulcan exterior. I wouldn’t even like to speculate.” 

Chapel stood abruptly and took a bottle from the side table, a gift from the Doctor's ‘medicinal’ alcohol cabinet. “Who’s for a top-up? And some speculation?” 

* 

_ Starbase 11, Courtroom. _ _ Stardate _ _ : 3942.3 (Terran Calendar: 23 _ _ rd _ _ October 2266) Ship’s time: 10:15 _

Kirk sat, upright and stone faced, as the proceedings progressed. His command, his career, everything he had worked for, all his life, was all riding on the judgement of the men opposite him. Spock stood, and walked to the stand. The thought flashed through his mind that Spock’s next Captain might not be a chess player, and he quashed that line of thought before it evoked any emotional reaction. 

Externally, he had the appearance of an entirely calm man awaiting proof of his innocence. Internally, watching Areel question Spock was doing destablising things to his hard-won equanimity. He hated that Spock was in this position, and hated that it was Areel questioning him. He took a steadying breath. Next to him, Cogley shot him a sharp glance, then looked back to the stand. 

Areel was saying, “Now the stardate -” but he never found out where that line of enquiry was going, as Spock spoke fluidly over her. “But the computer is inaccurate, nevertheless.” 

Kirk blinked. Areel said, sharply, “Why do you say that?” 

Kirk’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest as Spock replied coolly, “It reports that the jettison button was pressed before the Red Alert.” 

_ That’s their case. Why is Spock making their case? _

Areel had seen the same thing, and said quickly, “In other words, it reports that Captain Kirk was reacting to an extreme emergency that did not then exist.” She ended the sentence with satisfaction, her point made, but Spock continued it regardless, “And that is impossible.” 

Kirk stared. Areel blinked in surprise, but rallied quickly. “It is? Were you watching him the exact moment he pressed the jettison button?” 

“No, I was occupied. The ship was already on Yellow Alert.” 

“Then how can you dispute the finding of the log?” Areel sounded genuinely curious.

“I do not dispute it. I merely state that it is wrong.” Kirk realised, suddenly and with shock, that his first officer had nothing to support his assertion. No logical deduction, no reasoned argument. Nothing. _Spock._ Silently, Kirk sent a belated prayer of thanks to any higher being that had been watching out for James Kirk on the day that Ensign Spock boarded the _ Enterprise_. 

“Oh? On what do you base that statement?” Areel’s tone was verging on outright skepticism now. 

“I know the Captain. He is in -” 

Areel saw the danger and interrupted him quickly, turning to the bench, “Please instruct the witness not to speculate.” 

Before Stone could respond, Spock said with almost offended dignity, “Lieutenant, I am half Vulcan. Vulcans do not speculate. I speak from pure logic.” 

_ No you don’t, _Kirk thought, with a sudden, desperate affection that made his throat tighten, _ you liar. You really don’t. _

Spock continued with certainty, “If I let go of a hammer on a planet that has a positive gravity, I need not see it fall to know that it has in fact fallen.” 

Areel was floundering slightly. She had clearly not expected a Vulcan, asked to relay facts, to be a difficult witness. Under other circumstances, Kirk would have sympathized. She said, uncertainly, “I do not see what that has to do with -” 

Spock interrupted her again, his voice ringing through the courtroom, filled with absolute and unshakeable faith, “Gentlemen, human beings have characteristics just as inanimate objects do. It is impossible for Captain Kirk to act out of panic or malice. It is not his nature.” 

Jim had to look at the desk. He was glad that there was no reason for him to speak. He wasn't sure he would be able to, around the constriction in his throat. 

Cogley, who had been listening with an apparent casual disinterest, muttered distractedly, “He’s good. I like him.” 

Jim swallowed hard, then said, very quietly, "So do I.” 

* 

_USS Enterprise, same day, Ship’s time: 17:35_

Beneath his feet, Kirk felt the great ship level out, and assume an even orbit. He put an almost steady hand on the nearest bulkhead. “Good girl.” _Mine. Still mine._ There were formalities to see to, sure, but his innocence was proven beyond doubt. He would be her Captain still. Relief so profound washed through him that he slumped against the panel, and closed his eyes, waiting for the emotion and adrenaline to dissipate enough to present a professional face to the world. 

The doors to the power relay room opened and Spock entered, almost at a run. 

“Captain!” 

Kirk pointed to the Jeffries tube, said, somewhat redundantly, “I fixed it.” 

Spock said quickly, formally, “You did. The ship is in a stable orbit. Lieutenant Uhura has the conn.” 

Then just as quickly, the formality dropped, and he stepped towards his Captain, “Jim, Commodore Stone has ruled to dismiss the court. The case is dropped, but he requires your presence on the bridge for the sake of protocol.” 

Kirk gave a huff of near hysterical laughter and leaned back against the bulkhead. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his first officer was looking at him with concern. Kirk felt joy, relief, and affection wash through him so intensely, he couldn’t help but smile. He said, “You could have commed me. To tell me that.” 

He watched the thought occur to his first officer that he had absolutely no logical reason for not doing so. And started to laugh. Spock raised a confused eyebrow. “Jim?” 

“Spock. Spock, you are - “ he stopped. There just weren’t enough words. He drew himself upright and crossed the few steps to his best friend. He reached out and gripped Spock’s shoulder, near his neck, holding him in place as he said, “Spock - you just saved my career, my command, everything I’ve worked for – just because –” he felt emotion tightening his throat again, and hurried past it “- just because you believed in me. I – I won’t forget that. I’ll _ never _forget that.” 

Spock’s face was inches from his, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came. Jim smiled at him. “And now, I’m going to get my ship back.” He squeezed Spock’s shoulder, released him and walked to the door. At the threshold, he stopped. Spock hadn’t moved. 

He called back, “Oh, Spock?” The Vulcan turned. He was oddly still, and his face appeared slightly flushed. 

Kirk said, “Just to be clear, those chess games you won against the computer?” 

Spock tilted his head in curiosity. "Yes, Captain?"

“They don’t count for your score. I’m still ahead.” Kirk grinned, taking in the raised eyebrow in delight, before turning and almost running for the bridge. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
Spock cut out a bit of Portia’s monologue there. Sorry, Shakespeare fans.  
*  
I’m re-watching some of the TOS eps I haven’t seen in a few years to get the excerpts right, and oh my god, I know I’m writing a story about their relationship, but even I’d forgotten the CONSTANT flirting. Even stuff that doesn’t read flirty is delivered flirty. They are so damn cute. Ahem. Anyway.  
*  
I considered doing a post-Space Seed foreshadowing conversation between Kirk and Spock but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m already dreading the Wrath of Khan chapter. Although if it’s foreshadowing you want, canon got you covered. Spock actually says: “It would be interesting, Captain, to return to that world in a hundred years and to learn what crop has sprung from the seed you planted today.” Kirk replies: “Yes, Mister Spock. It would indeed.” My shipper heart ran and hid behind a cushion. 
> 
> Up next: Spock is happy. Kirk witnesses his first mind meld, and falls in love.


	9. On the Edge of Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit concerned about the drop in quality of these last few chapters due to me writing faster than I would usually. I hope it's not too vertiginous! So:
> 
> Scenes set during and after This Side of Paradise  
Scenes set during and after The Devil in the Dark  
Scenes set during and after The City on the Edge of Forever

_ Earth Colony, Omicron _ _ Ceti _ _ Three. __Stardate__: 4108.61 (Terran Calendar: 15th November 2266) Ship's time: 10:30._

“Well, that’s not appropriate,” Kirk muttered. 

Next to him, McCoy looked up from his tricorder. “What?” 

Kirk nodded across the field around them. Standing away from the other colonists and crew, Spock and Leila were deep in conversation. Her hand was resting on his arm, and showed no sign of moving. 

Kirk said, irritably, “I thought they were old friends. Doesn't she know Vulcans don’t like casual touch? It’s a cultural thing.” 

McCoy stared at him incredulously. “Just this morning, you practically put your arm around him - 

“Yes, _thank_ you, Doctor.” 

“- on the _ bridge - _.” 

Kirk said sharply, “Don’t you have some colonists to scan?” 

On his captain’s face, McCoy said, “Fine, fine, I’m going.” He went to move, then stopped. “It does answer that question we were wondering about, though.” 

Kirk was still watching the couple across the field. “What question?” 

“If Spock has any lost loves.” McCoy nodded across the field. “There she is. His Nancy. His Ruth.” 

Kirk stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that serious. They – look like they barely know each other.” 

“Oh yeah,” McCoy said dryly. “I _ always _look at people I barely know like that.” 

Kirk said, “_Colonists_, Doctor. _ Scans_. Now.” 

Kirk was almost sure, as McCoy walked away, he heard “Captain Grumpy” muttered, but decided to ignore it. Across the field, Leila’s hand had moved further up Spock’s arm. Kirk set his jaw, and went to find Sulu. 

* 

_As before, Ship's time: 11:45_

This was like some bizarre nightmare. Kirk stared in disbelief at his first officer. His smiling, insubordinate, _ Vulcan_ first officer. He really didn’t have time to figure out whatever was wrong.

“Mister Sulu. Mister Spock is under arrest and in your custody until we get back to the Enterprise.” At least it would keep him away from Leila. Sulu and Desalle stepped forward. They didn’t seem to be finding this situation nearly as outrageous as their Captain. Desalle was barely hiding a smile. 

Spock gave an audible sigh. “Very well.” He swung down from his branch, landing lightly, and turning to Leila with another smile. James Kirk was not a man to rush to judgement on another person, but the doe-eyed, adoring expression that Leila turned on his first officer was making his already fairly advanced dislike of her solidify into something approaching a genuine enmity. It was difficult to decide which was making him more irritated right now: her innocent, bland smile, when she had clearly done _something _to his friend, or the fact that Spock had taken her hand, and was smiling back at her. That last was annoying on two levels: that this, _this _was the moment he had finally seen Spock smile, and that it was directed at someone as fundamentally unworthy of it as Leila Kalomi. He glared up at the offending branch in disbelief, then hurried to catch the rest of the party as they crossed the field. 

As they approached the native plants, they shook, and expelled some kind of spore. Instinct made him recoil, but as he moved forward again, he felt it – a growing sense of peace at the edge of his consciousness. He turned to speak to Spock, then caught Leila’s expression. She was looking at him with a knowing, almost smug smile. It occurred to him that he had never in his life disliked someone quite so heartily on such meagre acquaintance. The peaceful feeling flared, and vanished. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, same day, Ship’s time 16:30_

Kirk watched the turbolift doors close behind his first officer, and turned back to the bridge console, taking his place at the exposed panel. He’d changed over two circuits when a thought occurred. What if it was possible to be re-infected? What if there was more than one strain? What if Leila brought some new spores onto his ship? He sat up so fast he hit his head on the underside of the console. 

Wincing, he turned to the monitor. “Computer, show security feed from transporter room one, sound and visual.” 

Obediently, the monitor lit up, and the transporter console appeared. Next to it were Spock and Leila. For a heart-stopping moment he thought they were about to kiss, and then he realised, with a twinge of something that felt almost like guilt, that she was on the verge of tears. She said, “I love you. I said that six years ago, and I can't seem to stop repeating myself. On Earth, you couldn't give anything of yourself. You couldn't even put your arms around me.” McCoy had been wrong. Leila had not been Spock’s Ruth. He ignored the fierce flare of satisfaction that thought engendered. 

Spock was clearly in no danger. Kirk reached for the switch to kill the feed to the bridge monitor. Then he heard Spock’s voice, “I have a responsibility to this ship, to that man on the bridge.” Kirk’s finger froze in place. “I am what I am, Leila, and if there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's.” 

She was crying now. “I have lost you, haven't I? And not only you, I've lost all of it. The spores. I've lost them, too.” 

“The Captain discovered that strong emotions and needs destroy their influence.” 

She had turned away from him, but now she turned back. “And this is for my good? Do you mind if I say I still love you? You never told me if you had another name, Mister Spock.” She was trying to brave it out, and for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her, Kirk felt a stab of sympathy. 

Until Spock reached for her, holding her face gently, and wiping her tears in a manner so tender it made his heart clench. He heard Spock say, “You couldn't pronounce it.” 

Kirk snapped off the feed, slightly ashamed of himself for watching for so long. He took a steadying breath, then went back to work. 

Ten minutes later, when Spock returned to the bridge, he didn’t ask about Leila, and Spock volunteered no information. Merely took his place besides his captain, and continued their work. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, same day. Ship's time: 23:10_

Kirk stared at the padd in front of him, then over at his first officer on the other side of his desk. “I'm really struggling to make ‘my entire crew mutinied’ not reflect badly on me in this report.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “They were under the influence of an alien pathogen, Captain. It could hardly have been anticipated.” 

“This is going to keep command amused for _ weeks_. I bet I start getting 'humorous’ messages with our mission briefings. ‘Hey Jim, have you managed to hang onto your crew this week?’ it’s going to get old _ really _fast.” He turned back to his work with a sigh. 

When a few more minutes had gone by, and no better wording had suggested itself, he looked up again at his first officer. He watched him work for a few moments, then said, suddenly, “Spock, listen. All that stuff I said in the transporter room. I just wanted to be clear - “ 

Spock cut him off. “No apology is necessary, Captain. Your behaviour was ingenious and highly effective. My own behaviour was insubordinate and should have led to a court martial.” 

Kirk winced. “You had a good reason for it. You, and the rest of the crew. And we’ve had quite enough of courts martial on this ship. We’re getting a reputation. Still, I hope you know I didn’t mean any of -” 

“You have – quite a creative line in insults, Captain. There were even a few I had not heard before.” 

Kirk had the grace to look embarrassed. “I - don’t think we need to revisit them.” Then his expression grew curious. “But, out of interest, and in case a similar situation arises again, what did it, by the way? I mean, I really _did _have to get creative. I was starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to get you mad enough.” 

Spock hesitated. In his mind, he heard Kirk’s voice say: _and you've got the gall to make love to that girl. Does she know what she's getting, Spock? A carcass full of memory banks who should be squatting in a mushroom, instead of passing himself off as a man? _That, from Jim, had done it. He remembered a flash of pure hurt, a feeling of acute betrayal, but – he did not know why, of everything Jim had said, that insult had cut deeper than the rest. 

Aloud, he said, “The reference to my parentage - “ 

“Oh. I am – sorry about that. I’d actually love to meet your parents. Especially your mother. She must be really something.” 

Spock’s expression had softened. “She has also expressed a desire to meet you.” 

Kirk’s look of guilt vanished, to be replaced with a smile. “Has she? You’ve, er, you’ve mentioned me to her then?” 

“Your name has – come up in conversation.” 

“Oh good. Flatteringly, I hope.” 

“Indeed, Captain.” 

“Good. Spock, if I ever do get to meet her, you won’t, er, you won’t mention that encyclopaedia thing, will you?” 

“I will not, Captain.” 

“Oh good. And to give further credit where it’s due: you have an impressive line in hand to hand combat, Mister Spock. I’m glad those spores wore off when they did. You’d’ve made Captain by default.” On his first officer’s face, he added, “That was a joke, Spock.” He rubbed his jaw feelingly. “All the same, remind me never to get in a serious fight with you.” 

“That is unlikely, Captain.” 

Kirk smiled. “Good to know.” 

Spock bent again to his work, and Kirk returned to his report. After a moment, he looked up again. Spock had said something on the bridge earlier that had been eating at him ever since. It would be an awkward conversation to have with a Vulcan, but as a Captain, let alone a friend, he couldn’t let it rest. 

He said, quietly, “Spock?” 

His first officer looked up. “Yes, Captain?” 

“What you said on the bridge. About being happy for the first time. Look, I - I know this isn’t paradise. Far from it, most of the time, but I wanted to say – if there’s ever anything I can do to help you - I mean, as Captain, I have a duty to ensure the health of my crew - both physical and mental. If you’re not happy here, not happy in your work, you know you can always speak to me, right? If there’s anything I can do, or change, or -” 

“Jim.” Spock’s expression, which had been somewhat confused as he began to speak, had gentled into what Kirk thought of as his almost-smile. “I did not speak with sufficient clarity on the bridge. Perhaps it would have been more accurate for me to say that it was the first time I allowed myself to fully experience the emotion of happiness.” 

Kirk nodded slowly. “Right. Okay. Yes. That is – clearer.” 

He still looked, to Spock’s eyes, a little uncertain, so he added carefully, “Jim, would it bring you - emotional security - to know that, were I to allow such emotion to arise, I believe it would frequently do so – aboard the _Enterprise_?” 

Kirk face, which had been verging on a frown, broke into a smile. He said quietly, “It would, Mister Spock. It would. Thank you.” 

* 

_Pergium Production Station, Janus Six. Stardate: 4247.79 (Terran Calendar: 4th December 2266)_

Kirk watched as Spock knelt again next to the Horta. He had returned his phaser to its place on his belt, but as Spock reached for the creature he had to fight the urge to take it up again. Instead, he shifted his weight, and waited. 

McCoy crossed to him, still wiping silicone from his hands. He nodded towards Spock, said softly, “You okay with that? You were worried about him last time.” 

“It was his suggestion.” Kirk matched McCoy’s soft tone, but didn’t take his eyes off the Horta. “And he’s just saved who knows how many lives. It looks like it’s going okay, though,” he risked a quick glance to McCoy, “you think?” 

McCoy nodded. “Better than with Van Gelder, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Spock did say the Horta had a logical mind. It must make things easier somehow. All the same, I’d be happier if you kept an eye on him.” He nodded towards McCoy’s medical kit, still leaning against a rock. 

McCoy followed his eyes. “Yeah, me too.” He moved for the kit. 

* 

This meld was far easier than the first. McCoy’s work had made the Horta’s pain subside to a dull ache, which she was easily able to ignore, to allow her to focus exclusively on Spock’s mental presence, for the first time. Her grief and despair were still present, but without her intense physical pain, she was able to momentarily hold them at bay, to communicate with him in her turn. She had grasped their language with remarkable speed. 

He heard: _Will you convey – _ he felt _thanks/gratitude_ _ \- to your – _his mind supplied _healer/doctor. _

_I shall do so. I am sorry you were hurt. _

_It will heal now. Are my children safe? The murderers are close, but they do not_ – he had a distressing flash of _destruction/murder/violence_. 

_No, and they will not. They did not understand before. They did not know of you, and your children. They do now. _

He felt, with surprise, her probing his mind in turn, questioning his honesty. He allowed her to read his absolute sincerity, and sorrow for her loss. Some of the grief and despair that she had been holding began to dissipate slightly, to be replaced with – hope. That this might not be the end she had feared. Hope, and – curiosity. 

_ You are all – bipedal. _

_ Yes _

_ That is inefficient. _

Spock replied mildly,_ We are – used to it. _

As if from a distance, he could hear the voices of Kirk and McCoy, speaking low. The Horta seemed to become aware of them too, and he sensed a sudden fear in her mind. 

_You __asked__ him to kill me. _Spock wondered if she had way of hearing or if she had taken the thought, and the regret, from his mind. Either way, there was a surprising lack of accusation in her tone. She seemed to merely wish to elucidate the difference between the mind behind that request and the mind that touched hers now. 

_ I am sorry. I do not wish you harm. _ It was useless to obfuscate in a meld designed to build trust: _ I was - afraid. I feared you would harm him. _

_ You care for him. _

_ Yes _. 

_ Then you understand why I protected my children. _

_ Yes. We did not know that they were your children. I grieve with thee. _

He felt the truth of that statement land, and allowed her to feel his sincerity, his profound sorrow for the destruction of the eggs and the grief that the unwitting actions of the miners had caused. He felt her slow acceptance that the tragedy had been unintended. That there had been no malice towards her kind from the humans in their midst. He was impressed again with her ability to compartmentalise her emotions, to not allow her grief, as deep as it was, to control her actions. It was approach far closer to Vulcans than humans, and he felt an unexpected kinship with this profoundly alien lifeform. 

_Thanks/gratitude. No more will be harmed? _

_You have my word. Relief/hope/wonderment._ Behind him, the conversation between his Captain and CMO continued. He felt the Horta’s attention move to his Captain. 

She sent, curiously,_ You care for him. _ _ He is, then, your child? _

_ No_. Spock stifled a thread of amusement at the idea that he would ever produce any offspring quite like James Kirk. _ He is my Captain. _

Until this point, their communication had found equivalent concepts in their two world views such that understanding had come quickly. But he felt immediately that the term _ Captain _ had not found a match. The Horta did not appear to have any similar kind of militaristic structure. 

He sensed her curiosity and debated, briefly, trying to communicate the entire concept of Starfleet, then decided, for the sake of speed, to simply elucidate his relationship to his Captain. He sent the strongest image of Kirk he could conjure. To his surprise, what came was not Kirk on the bridge, but Kirk opposite him, at the chess board, having just made an unexpected move, and smiling at him, his face a mixture of affection, amusement, and challenge. He tried to communicate the attitudes associated with Kirk’s rank_: respect_, _ loyalty_, _ devotion_. 

He felt immediately when her confusion cleared. 

_ Ah yes. We also have _ – his mind searched for an equivalent word to the emotions and concepts she presented. _ Life partner. _ _ Bondmate__. Husband. _

Spock felt a flush of embarrassment. It was rare that his ability to mentally communicate concepts failed so entirely. 

_No. No, he is _– _not_ _that_. _He is – my friend._

He felt a different grief then, a loss that resonated in a long-neglected corner of his mind. The loss of her entire race, and the aching loneliness of her long isolation. 

He felt: _ You understand. You can also – be lonely. _ He sensed curiosity again. _ And yet, you are not alone. What of your _ _ friendcaptain__? _

Spock realised that the Horta was growing more comfortable with the meld, and using it in her turn to enquire into his mind, to learn more of the bipeds with whom she had shared her home. He was impressed anew with her intelligence and strength. She sent: _ This method of communication is natural to you. It relieves your sense of isolation. Why then do you not use it with your _ _ friendcaptain__? _

_ It is not – natural to him. Humans find it invasive. _

**_ Humans_**. He felt her accustoming herself to the word. 

_ I know they are – not as you. But if a way could be devised, for you to communicate with the humans who also wish to live on this planet, would that be - acceptable to you? Would you permit them to stay? They are aware, now, of the grief they have caused, and they are sorry. They wish to work with you to complete their task whilst ensuring that you and your children remain here in peace. _

_ They - make tunnels. And – remove rock. _

_ They do. _

_ They are very slow. And inefficient. _

_ They are – merely bipedal. _

He sensed a flash of what could almost have been amusement. _ Perhaps, if they are to be here also, I could – assist? _

_ That was my Captain’s suggestion. _

_ It would seem – logical. They would wish to continue to live here? To communicate with me? _

_ Yes. And your assistance would be most welcome. _

He sensed her consideration. After a moment he heard. _ Very well. My children will not be disturbed? _

_ Identify the areas you wish to be untouched and we will ensure they remain so. _

_ Thank you. Friend/human. _

* 

_USS Enterprise, two days later _

“Captain, I see no reason to stand here and be insulted.” Spock walked from the command chair and resumed his post with an air of injured dignity that was so patently manufactured Kirk had to hide his grin as he called out, “Ahead, warp factor two.” 

As the colony fell into the distance behind the ship, McCoy left the bridge, and Sulu switched the view to the starfield ahead of them, Kirk found his mind was still on the events on the planet. He glanced over to his science officer, who had struck up a quiet conversation with one of his deputies in the ship’s lab. 

If Spock hadn’t been there, more Horta children would have died. And more miners would have been killed. He wasn’t sure he would have figured out the events of the planet as fast as Spock had. And that – that _mind_ _meld_ \- had been one of the most extraordinary things he’d ever seen. He gazed unseeing at the starfield in front of him. Watching Spock touch the mind of another being like that, share their thoughts, their pain, all of their emotions, had been disturbing, yet somehow, extraordinary. He’d been worried for Spock, and at the same time quietly amazed at his willingness to put himself through such emotional turmoil. He cast another glance to the science station. It was no wonder, really, that Vulcans pursued a path of logic above emotions. Feeling the emotions of others like that, as well as your own, would be tremendously unsettling without the mental disciplines they practiced. 

He leaned against the arm of the command chair, deep in thought. He wondered, again, what it would be like to be part of a meld. He had wondered the same after the incident with Van Gelder, but as Spock had been clear that he felt it would be inappropriate to meld with his Captain, he had let the idea go. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. The second meld had allayed some of his concerns about the strain the technique put on Spock. Without the Horta’s pain, the meld had seemed almost – friendly. If Spock hadn’t been Vulcan, Kirk would have described his attitude to the experience as positively cheerful. 

All of which begged the question, why couldn’t they try it? There would be an obvious and distinct advantage to Spock being familiar with his Captain’s mind. He’d been replaced by duplicates twice in the first year of their mission alone. The odds favoured it happening again, and if they had a sure-fire way to always tell the real James Kirk from any imposter – his eyes flicked again to the science station. 

That was sufficient reason, in his mind, to attempt a meld. He would make the case to Spock at the first opportunity. And if another reason was required, well, surely it would be possible to teach even a psy-null human ways to shield their thoughts. That could definitely be useful. He remembered the machine on the Tantalus colony with an internal shudder. 

All of which was eminently logical, and sensible. He quite purposefully ignored the quiet, traitorous thought that pointed out how convenient it was that this approach lined up so beautifully with his own curiosity about the technique. And how much he wanted to share that kind of communion with his first officer. That thought was idiotic and irrelevant. Assuming Spock agreed, this would be an experiment in the line of duty. Nothing more than that. 

* 

_21st Street Mission, New York City, Earth. Stardate: unknown. Terran calendar: January 17th, 1930 _

Spock straightened and looked around the cold, bare basement. It was tidy, far more logically arranged, and as clean as they could make it. It required only a regular sweep to maintain this level of efficiency for some time. He glanced towards the closed basement door. Jim had gone to find food, and would be gone a few more minutes at least. With a suppressed sigh of relief, he removed his hat. The material of the hat was coarse, and rough, and clearly not intended for Vulcan ears. He set it down. The constant chafing of the material was beginning to hurt. It was the fact that he was massaging his ears in an attempt to persuade the irritation to subside that meant he didn’t hear the basement door opening and her light tread on the stairs, until she said, “Jim, have you -” 

Spock whirled, grabbing for his hat, but it was too late. Edith Keeler was standing near the bottom of the stairs, staring at him, wide-eyed. 

After a moment of silence, he said, redundantly, “Jim is – not here.” 

She stepped down from the staircase, and moved closer to him, taking a slightly winding route to allow her to ascertain that, yes, he did look the same on both sides. 

She stopped near him and said, “You've taken your hat off.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why? It’s cold down here.” 

“The material. It is irritating my ears.” 

“Yes, they do look flushed. Are they not usually that color?” 

“No.” 

She made a humming noise that reminded him, oddly, of Uhura. She held her hand out, and after a moment of confusion, he handed her his hat. 

She frowned immediately. “This material is awfully rough. And quite old.” She thought for a second. “We don’t have much by the way of spare clothes at the moment, but leave it outside your room when you go to bed tonight, and I’ll sew some material in the sides for you. I’ve some soft cotton that should make it more comfortable.” 

Spock blinked in genuine surprise. She looked up, and added. “If that’s alright?” 

“I - yes. Thank you, Miss Keeler.” 

She looked at him curiously again, and said, in her direct way, “Where you born this way? 

“I was.” 

“It’s striking, isn’t it?” 

“So I have been informed.” 

“If a little demonic looking.” 

“So I have also been informed.” 

“I quite like it. It suits you.” She nodded, as if definitive judgement had been passed. “Where’s Jim?” 

Spock blinked at the sudden change of subject. “He has gone to enquire about lunch.” 

“Well, it’s ready. I just came to ask if you were hungry.” 

“He is.” 

“No surprise there.” She threw him a slightly shy, conspiratorial smile. 

When he didn’t return it, she said, “You don’t smile much, do you?” 

“I do not.” Further explanation seemed to be required, so he added, “It is – a cultural thing.” 

She made that humming noise again. “And if I were to ask which culture, Mister Spock, would you tell me the truth?” 

“I would not.” 

She laughed then. “What a pair of honest liars you are. Well, I can’t stand around talking to you all day when there are meals to be served.” She turned, taking in the cellar for the first time. “There isn’t much more for you to do here.” She eyed him appraisingly. “How are you at serving meals?” 

“I imagine I could learn, Miss Keeler.” 

She smiled again. “I imagine you could, Mister Spock.” She looked around her again, and back to him. “Tell Jim I said hello.” 

* 

Spock shivered in the darkness. Through the window, a neon streetlight flickered and dimly illuminated their rooms through the thin curtains. He had tried every mental technique he knew to adjust his internal temperature, with limited success. The pervasive cold of old New York seemed to eat into his bones. He and Jim were taking in turns to sleep on the bed, or the small cot on the floor. Sleeping in the bed was hard enough, but Spock found sleeping on the cot impossible. The material was too thin, and the floor too cold, to allow for any comfort. 

Slowly, carefully, he moved from the cot, retrieved his coat, and put it on. The difference was minimal. He moved further from the draft at the window, and sat at the table. In the dim light from the street it was not possible to continue his delicate work, but he knew he would not be able to sleep in this cold. He hunched into himself and rubbed his hands together. The tips of his fingers had been tingling with cold, and were now beginning to hurt. Tiny pinpricks were reducing their sensitivity, and causing pain through his system. 

From the darkness, Jim’s voice said quietly, “Spock, you okay?” 

“My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to disturb you.” 

The bed creaked as Jim shifted. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” Spock saw a shadow shift in Jim’s corner as he rose from the bed and crossed the room. His Captain sat in the other chair and regarded him with concern. “Are you sleeping okay? I heard you moving about last night too.” 

“I have - struggled to regulate my temperature.” 

Kirk’s eyes dropped to where his hands were convulsively rubbing together. Then to Spock’s utter surprise, he reached across the table, and covered Spock’s hands with his. 

Spock drew a sharp breath. Jim's hands were impossibly warm, and the warmth not only soothed his painful fingers, but seemed to spread through his system, touching and soothing the bone-deep cold. He felt his Captain’s concern, and affection. He should pull away, but he could not force his hands to move. 

Kirk frowned in concern. “Spock - your hands are _ freezing_.” He looked across at the cot. “That cot is too cold. We should stop using it.” 

Spock managed, “Jim, the floor would not be an improvement.” 

“I didn’t mean that.” Kirk withdraw his hands, and Spock bit down on a small noise of distress. Kirk stood, pulled the cover off the cot, threw it on the bed, and kicked the cot under the bed. He waved a hand to Spock. “C’mere.” 

Spock stood in confusion, and crossed to his Captain. Kirk had picked up the covers from the bed, and his own coat. He held a hand out to Spock. “Coat.” 

Spock reluctantly removed it, and Kirk gathered it with the rest of the material in his arms. He nodded to the bed. “You lie there.” Spock frowned, “Jim, it is your turn.” 

“I know, and I’ll be using it, but so will you. There’s no point us being cold separately when we could be slightly warmer together.” 

Spock stared at him.

Kirk looked suddenly doubtful. "Spock – would that be okay? I don’t want to overstep any boundaries here, but if you aren’t sleeping –" he paused. 

Spock looked at him, and at the narrow bed. Jim was so warm. He longed for that source of heat like water after a drought. But they would be very close. He would need to be extremely careful with his mental shields, but if he were asleep – he said, “Jim, at such a physical proximity there might be some – unwitting transference of thoughts or feelings. I would not wish to -” 

Kirk looked at the bed, and back to his first officer. He said, “Brace yourself for a shock, Mister Spock, but I think about the Enterprise. A lot. I dream about her sometimes too.” 

Spock raised a “surely not” eyebrow at him, and Jim laughed, then said, “I’ll take my chances. Come on.” He indicated with his head towards the bed. 

Slowly, carefully, Spock lay stiffly down, with his back to Jim. There was a sudden _whomp_ as Jim deposited two blankets and both coats down on top of him. Then he felt the bed dip, and a solid warmth at his back as Jim shuffled into place and arranged the coverings. 

After a moment, he lay still. Then a voice behind him, said, “Better?” 

Jim’s breath was warm on his neck. He could feel the solid weight of him along his back. He said quietly, “That is – significantly warmer, Captain. Thank you.” 

The warmth of Jim’s chuckle spread from his neck down his spine, and he felt some of tension and chill drain away. Jim said in amusement, “Spock, I think if there was ever a moment to drop the formalities, this would be it.” 

“My apologies, Jim.” 

Kirk’s voice was still amused. “Don’t worry about it.” 

* 

Spock awoke with a sudden sense of alarm. He was being restrained. He was - 

Awareness returned and he blinked rapidly. He was on Earth. In old New York. With Jim. Who was even now sleeping soundly beside him. He lifted the covers very slightly to confirm what his ribcage had already ascertained to be the case. Jim had thrown a restraining arm over him, and shuffled even closer. Spock could feel warm, even breathing against his neck. He considered moving Jim’s arm, but hesitated, lest he disturb the sleeping human. After a moment, he lowered the covers back into place, preserving their little cocoon of heat against the cold outside. This was the easily the warmest he had been since they had arrived on Earth. 

Even though his shields remained in place, they had naturally weakened somewhat with sleep, and he could feel that Jim’s slumber was deep, and undisturbed. The tranquillity of it began to pull him again towards sleep, and he willingly surrendered to that inviting warmth and peace. 

* 

_21st Street Mission, New York City, Earth. Stardate: unknown. Terran calendar: January 27th 1930 _

Spock stared at the arrangement of primitive materials and tools on the table. _ Stone knives and bearskins, indeed. _ Nevertheless, he must make the best of it. And he was making progress. He had just turned back to his task when the door opened, and Edith Keeler’s voice said, “Jim darling, do you have -“ she stopped, just inside the doorway, “Oh, Mister Spock, I’m sorry. I thought Jim was here.” 

“He is not.” She blinked, and he was concerned suddenly that he had sounded rude. He added, “But I am expecting him back shortly. You may – wait here, if you wish.” 

The offer had been half-hearted at best, and he expected her to refuse, but to his surprise, after a glance behind her, she said. “Thank you,” and sat opposite him at the small table. 

Momentarily discombobulated by her presence, he did not immediately continue his work, merely watched as she examined his rudimentary tricorder with interest. 

“What is it?” 

He hesitated for only a moment. “It is – it is _ going to be_ – a radio.” 

She looked it over, assessing. “I’ve never seen one like that before. It looks more like one of those, oh what are they called, I saw an article about them the other day.” She frowned in the effort of concentration, then snapped her fingers. “Television. It looks like one of those new – electronic televisions.” 

“That is – very perceptive, Miss Keeler.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, and lowered her voice. “Try not to sound so surprised, Mister Spock. I do read newspapers, you know.” She broke into a smile. Spock raised an eyebrow at her. He did not wish to like Edith Keeler. Her relationship with Jim was unlikely to end well, and might potentially cause distress to his friend. She was, therefore, an unnecessary and frankly dangerous threat to Jim’s peace of mind. However, her natural directness, kindness, and not inconsiderable personal charm, against his better judgement, continued to win him over. 

She added, “I’m sorry – I'm disturbing you. Please carry on. I’ll be quiet.” 

He picked up his tools, and continued. True to her word, she did not speak again, until a few more minutes had passed. Then she said, quietly, apropos of nothing, “He’s going to leave, isn’t he?” 

Spock looked at her sharply. 

“Or I should say,” she amended, “you are _both_ going to leave, aren’t you? Because I can’t imagine he’d go without you.” She gave him a slightly sad smile. “His right hand, his – oh, what’s the term for a Captain's main lieutenant?” She looked at him directly, challenging him to contradict her. 

He did not see the point in doing so. “First officer.” 

She nodded. “First officer. Thank you.” They sat in silence for a moment, then she said, still a little sadly, “I bet he’s a good Captain, isn’t he?” 

“He is.” 

She nodded. “Does he have a ship, somewhere, waiting for him?” 

Spock hesitated. They were straying dangerously close to territory that Edith Keeler could not know. However, he was aware that this time in Earths’ history was home to a number of militaries, any one of which they could legitimately be part of. He said, simply, “Yes.” 

“I can’t leave here, you know. I’m needed. There’s work to be done.” She bit her lip, then looked him in the eye. “I don’t suppose – you would stay?” 

“We cannot.” 

She nodded again, and blinked rapidly a few times, keeping her gaze averted. 

Spock said, gently, “I - am sorry.” 

She gave a small huff of laugher. “No, you’re not.” She looked at him again. “You don’t belong here, any more than he does.” They sat in silence for a moment, then she burst out, “Oh, I wish - “ 

She stopped herself with a visible effort. “Well, we can’t always have what we want, can we, Mister Spock?” She nodded to herself. “We must be – practical.” 

“Indeed, Miss Keeler.” 

She rose. “I shall simply make the best of it whilst you are here. Tell Jim I was looking for him, won’t you?” 

“I shall, Miss Keeler.” 

She nodded, and left the room abruptly, closing the door behind her. 

That night, Jim did not sleep in their small room, and Spock shivered in the small bed until the dawn light was strong enough to work by. 

* 

_21st Street Mission, New York City, Earth. Stardate: unknown. Terran calendar: January 29th 1930 _

Jim was restless. Spock was not sure he had slept at all. He wondered whether to speak, but feared to interrupt any sleep that Jim might manage to attain. Even through the shielding he was maintaining at all times to ensure privacy for his Captain, he could feel Jim’s distress. 

As he considered speaking again, Jim rose abruptly from their bed.

“Jim?” 

“Spock, I -” Kirk’s voice was unsteady. His outline was faint against the curtains. 

He sat up. “What is it?” 

Kirk said, despairingly. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.” In the dim light, Captain’s face was a picture of misery. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to let her die. Not if – it's in front of me. Not if – I'm right there.” 

Spock rose, and moved to him. “Jim - you must.“ 

“I know.” Kirk snapped. “I _ know_. Don't keep telling me I have to - I know. Do you have any idea how hard that will be?” His voice rose. “Do you even _care_?” 

Spock’s face tightened and Kirk slumped in defeat. “I’m sorry, Spock, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” 

He moved closer and gripped Jim’s shoulders gently. “I know.” 

Jim lowered his head, exhausted, until it was resting on Spock’s shoulder. Gently, Spock raised his hands until they were resting against his Captain’s back. They stood quietly together in the near silence of a pre-dawn New York morning, as light began to break through the thin curtains. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Stardate: 4666.55 Terran Calendar: 31st January 2267_

Janice Rand briefly sounded the chime at the Captain’s quarters, and then entered without waiting for a reply. The chime was more of a polite formality at this point, a way for her to give him a chance to deny her entry if he was, say, wandering around his quarters half naked. Not that that had ever happened, not after the first time, anyway. And he’d be expecting her now as she’d dropped off his dinner tray an hour before, and this was her usual time to collect it, so she didn’t wait for a reply before entering. 

As she had expected, his dinner tray lay untouched on the end of his desk. Well no, she corrected herself, not quite untouched. The contents of the plate had been disturbed, but Janice had nephews, and she would have bet her post on the _Enterprise_ that he had simply moved the food around to forestall any comment from her on his lack of appetite. Which she had been planning to make; he had snapped at her for commenting the previous evening, but she was undeterred. However, he had now ensured that any comment she made could be refuted. She suppressed a sigh. This was becoming - really quite worrying. 

Everyone knew something had happened on that planet. The one with the ruined city and the spacial distortions. But the only people who knew exactly what were the Captain, Mister Spock, and Doctor McCoy. And they were all tight-lipped. The entire landing party had been sworn to the highest level of secrecy Starfleet possessed. It was an open secret that the planet had emitted time ripples, so figuring out that their command team had been taken somewhere in time, then returned, was hardly the work of Sherlock Holmes, but Uhura had confided in her and Chapel that, even were she able to tell them more, she knew no more. So the source of the Captain’s malaise remained a mystery: to Janice, and to the rest of the crew. 

She lifted the tray and looked down at him. He was reading a report – pretending to read a report – she amended, presumably in the hopes that she would simply remove the tray and go. 

She said, gently, “Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

After a moment, he looked up. He still looked pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if he had slept too little, or too much. Even without knowing what had happened, her heart hurt for him. 

He said, “No. Thank you, Yeoman, but no.” And returned to not reading his report. 

Janice bit her lip, then said, “Call me if you think of anything.” 

He nodded without looking up. 

She said, more firmly, “I’m serious, sir. Even if I’m off shift. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Just – call me.” 

He looked up again, and for the first time in three days, he almost smiled. “Thank you, Yeoman.” 

She smiled back, trying to make it look happier than she felt. “Goodnight, Captain. Sleep well.” 

As the doors to his quarters closed behind her, Janice sighed. She would have to talk to someone. This couldn’t go on. 

As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, the ship’s first officer came round the bend in the corridor, obviously heading for his quarters. “Mister Spock!” 

She almost dropped the tray on the deck in her anxiety to speak to him. He waited as she deposited it more carefully, then fell into step with him. 

“Commander, I do hope you don’t feel this is out of line, but I wanted to -” Ensign Toven walked past and she broke off, giving him a nod and a smile. Spock raised a curious eyebrow at her. She lowered her voice. “I wanted to talk to you – about the Captain.” 

His face shuttered almost immediately, and she knew instantly that anything she was about to say was unlikely to come as a surprise. He said quietly, “Would you mind stepping inside for a moment, Yeoman?” 

They were outside his quarters, and she nodded. Under any other circumstances, she would have welcomed the opportunity to look around his personal space, but as they moved inside, she didn’t take her eyes from his face. When the doors had closed, he said briskly, “State your concerns.” 

She didn’t even take a breath. “He’s not eating enough. I’m not sure if he’s sleeping. When I raise anything with him, he snaps at me. He’s just -“ she hesitated. She’d wanted to stick to facts in front of their only Vulcan officer, but “- he’s unhappy, sir. _Really_ unhappy. And – I don’t know what to do to help him. I know you can’t tell me what happened on the planet, it’s classified, I understand, but – do you know if there’s _ anything _I can do? Anything at all?” 

Spock looked at her for long moment, his face unreadable. Then he said, carefully, “I would advise you to continue to do as you have been doing, Yeoman, and report to me as regards the Captain’s habits apropos eating and sleeping, until such time as his routine returns to normal.” 

She nodded slowly. It felt like telling tales out of school, but she didn’t see, in the circumstances, any alternative. If the Captain himself wouldn’t engage with her, going to the person he was closest to on the ship seemed like the best alternative. She said, hopefully, “Do you know – when that might be?” 

He looked away, and then back, as if gauging how much he could tell her. After a moment, he said, “I shall trust you not to repeat this outside this room.” He hesitated, before adding, “The Captain has – suffered a loss. He will require time to assimilate it.” His stern expression gentled slightly. “He has expressed to me in the past how valuable a support you are to him, Yeoman.” 

She blinked. That was a surprise. 

He added, “Please - continue to be so.” 

She nodded, suddenly fighting an unexpected urge to cry. “I will, sir. Thank you.” She turned to leave, then turned back. “And thank you - for trusting me.” 

* 

Spock watched the door close behind Rand in concern. He had known that Jim was unhappy – it was clear to the whole crew that their Captain was not himself. He had turned down all offers of chess, or meals in the rec room, and had retired to his quarters after every shift, claiming pressure of work. Spock had, therefore, been trying to give him space. To grieve, and heal, in private. But he could not continue to stand by and watch Jim suffer without attempting to help him. He followed Rand out of his rooms, and walked down the corridor to the Captain’s quarters. When his chime received no reply, he simply entered anyway. 

Kirk was sitting at his desk, staring into space. At Spock’s entry, he looked up, and sighed. 

“I take it Rand has ratted me out.” 

Spock crossed to the desk and sat. “Yeoman Rand is concerned about your eating habits and sleeping pattern. She was entirely right to raise it with me.” 

“I’m surprised it took her this long.” 

“She is very protective of your privacy.” 

Kirk looked away. “She’s a good yeoman. I was – a bit sharp with her yesterday. I’ll apologise.” 

Spock said, “Jim -” 

Kirk cut him off, “I just – I need time, Spock, that’s all. Okay? Just – some time, I -” He took a deep breath. 

“Are you sleeping?” 

“Yes.” 

“Jim. Please don’t make me fetch Doctor McCoy to verify the truth of that statement.” 

Kirk rubbed his eyes. “Damn, Spock, that’s dirty pool.” 

“Nevertheless -” 

“Yes.” Kirk snapped. “Yes, I’m sleeping. And would you like to know what happens when I do?” 

“Jim-” 

“I dream, or rather I have a nightmare. Would you like to know what about? Actually, you can probably guess.” 

“Jim -” 

“Her. Every time I sleep, I hear her scream. Although, not always, sometimes she cries out for me to help her. And I don’t. I just – stand there. And she dies. So no, I’m not sleeping. Because I don't want to _hear her die_ _again_.” His voice had raised to a near shout, but now he slumped back into the desk chair, exhausted and defeated, and said quietly, “Does that answer your question?” 

Spock hesitated. “Jim - you must rest. Perhaps if you were to speak to Doctor McCoy -” 

“And say what? Hey, Bones, you know that woman I stopped you from saving, the one I loved? Well, I’m having bad dreams about her, can you help?” Kirk's tone was scathing. 

“He would – he _ does - _understand.” 

"Well I’m not sure I do." Kirk leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands. 

When he didn’t move for some moments, Spock said, carefully, “Jim, there is a Vulcan technique, it would involve – the touching of minds -” 

Kirk snapped, “No.”Spock blinked. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to make this better. I _ should _ be grieving her. I _ should _be unhappy. It’s the very least she deserves.”

He waved a hand towards the walls of his quarters. “There’s a whole galaxy of people out there who owe her their lives, and they don’t even know her name. And here I am, getting on with my life like nothing happened. My grief, Spock? Barely seems adequate, if you want the truth.” 

Spock looked at him, barely concealing his own concern at his captain’s distress. “Jim - you are taking too much on yourself.” 

“I’m really not.” it was barely a whisper, as Jim looked away. 

Silence fell between them. Spock looked at his captain, at the desk piled with work, at the ship around them. 

He said quietly, “Then take the time to grieve her. In peace.” 

Kirk looked at him in confusion. 

Spock said gently, “On my world the nights are very long. My people know there is always time enough for everything. You could – come with me. For a rest. You would be comfortable there.” 

Kirk looked at him, almost stricken, then said softly, “All the time in the world –” 

“And filled with tomorrows.” 

Suddenly, the bitterness welled up again. “Not for her. For us, but not for her. She was negligible.” 

“No, Jim, she was not. Her death saved uncountable billions of people. Both the living and the yet unborn. Far from negligible. 

Kirk’s eyes were full. “I failed her. I didn’t save her. And I loved her.” 

“No, Jim, _ no_.” Spock’s heart ached for him. “You acted. No woman was ever loved as much. Because no other woman was almost offered the universe for love.” 

Jim dropped his gaze to his desk, moved his hand across his eyes. He didn’t look up for a long time. 

Spock sat with him in the heavy silence. 

Eventually, Kirk straightened.

His voice was a little firmer as he said, “The, er, the ship is due for a minor refit of the engine room the week after next. We’ll be stopping at starbase twelve for a few days. It’s only a dozen light years or so from Vulcan. You could – you could go home then. If you liked.” 

Spock said, gently, “And - you would be-?” 

Kirk moved a padd on his desk. He said, “I should oversee the refit.” 

“Mister Scott is more than capable.” 

Kirk gave a huff that could almost have been a laugh. “I imagine Mister Scott would be tremendously grateful to anyone who stopped me looking over his shoulder.” 

“Mister Scott has averred for some time that I owe him a favour.” 

Kirk looked at him, with what was nearly a smile. “Well, that’s a story I’ll want to hear sometime.” 

Silence fell again. Spock said, “As the Enterprise will not be undertaking any critical missions, there would be no objection to our being off the ship at the same time. I could make all the necessary arrangements.” 

Kirk nodded slowly, his eyes on the desk. After a moment, he said, “Alright. Alright, Mister Spock. If it will make you happy. And keep Bones off my back.” He looked up at his first officer. “I'll clear it with command. Make your arrangements.” 

Spock blinked. He had not truly expected Kirk to comply. Aloud he said, “Thank you, Captain. I shall do so.” When nothing more was forthcoming, he rose. As he reached the door, he said, “Shall I ask Yeoman Rand to return with some food?” 

Kirk said mildly, “Don’t push it.” But his demeanour was slightly lighter in a way that made Spock’s heart lift in turn. 

He left Kirk's quarters. By the time he returned to his rooms, he knew where they would go. There was one place, on all Vulcan, that never failed to bring him peace, or relief from emotional pain. He would take Jim there. It was the least he could do. 

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of lines of Kirk and Spock's dialogue at the very end here are taken from Harlan Ellison's original shooting script for City on the Edge of Forever (cut from the show, which I have edited slightly because his Spock is even softer than mine - I know, right?!), and from James Blish's simply wonderful adaptations of the episodes. (Which, if you haven't read them - why are you reading this rubbish?! Go, read, come back! Who knows, by the time you get through them all, I might have finished rewriting the Amok Time chapter....)
> 
> Okay, speaking of, I know there was a plan. But once again, my muse has looked at my careful planning, and laughed. Kirk was not supposed to agree to go to Vulcan. He was supposed to be touched by the offer, and refuse. It's this sort of reckless disobedience to my writing plans that got a building unexpectedly dropped on him in the Thousandth Man. Anyway, I guess they'll be one more chapter before the blood fever hits because we are, apparently, going to Vulcan first. *Sighs*


	10. Interlude - Time out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set during Generations. 
> 
> Scenes set between City on the Edge of Forever, and Amok Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that thing, where you write something, and you think 'this is great' then you read it the next day, and it’s godawful? That happened a lot with this chapter. Rewrites and edits aplenty, and I’m still not happy, but if we waited until I was happy we’d still be on Chapter 1. 
> 
> All the same, I have some chronic doubt about the way I've structured this chapter so if it doesn't work for you, and you think the two separate past and future sections should be together for clarity or so forth, let me know. 
> 
> Also, y’all only have yourselves to blame that this update is a few days later than planned, because there were such amazing, generous comments on the last chapters, I had to respond to them all instead of, you know, actually writing anything. :D (Which is in no way me discouraging commenting! Comments are life!) 
> 
> Seriously though, I’m just so touched by how utterly lovely and invested you are. This is starting to feel like more of a team effort than just me scribbling away in isolation!

_ I could recognize him _

_By touch alone. _

_ I would know him blind _

_ By the way his breaths came _

_ And his feet struck the earth. _

_ I would know him in death _

_ At the end of the world. _

\- The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller 

_ I could recognize him.....by touch alone.... _

_ Vulcan, _ _ Stardate__: _ _ 4918.61 _ _ (Terran calendar: 7th March, 2267) _

James Kirk looked around him in mild disbelief as he walked. When Spock had suggested this trip to Vulcan, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting. But it had definitely involved – relaxation. Not luxury, perhaps – these were Vulcans, after all - but possibly a nice hotel. Or a beach. Even a logical sort of bar. Not a lengthy shuttle ride to the edge of some minor mountain range, then a long, exhausting hike up into what genuinely appeared to be the middle of nowhere. At least Spock had forewarned him that his packing would need to be portable, so he’d travelled light, even by Starfleet standards. 

The heat wasn’t quite as oppressive as he’d feared – Spock had told him that the truly hot season had yet to begin, and Jim experienced a wave of relief that they’d be gone before it started. Even mild heat on Vulcan was almost insufferably hot when you were hiking through it for much of the day. He supposed the area Spock had chosen for their leave helped with the temperature too. He, like most non-Vulcans in the Federation, had a vague idea that Vulcan consisted almost entirely of tall, shining, logically arranged cities and spaceports, and barren, fierce mountains and desert, with nothing in between. The area they were currently traversing belied that assumption. It was far from barren, for a start. It was covered in wild Vulcan flora, that seemed to be happily flourishing in open defiance of the heat and apparent lack of water. 

The highest peaks of the mountain range they were passing through soared away in the distance to his left. Spock had replied to his slightly anxious question, with quiet amusement, that they would not be going so far. Jim had hidden his relief with limited success. The area they were currently passing through, although lower, and less steep, was quite enough of a hiking challenge. 

He took a breath, and halted his ascent, staring around. He had a feeling, if he could have seen anything, that the view would have been impressive. However, they’d now gone high enough that a haze lay over the landscape beneath, obscuring his view. Spock was a few meters ahead, moving lightly from rock to rock. He watched his first officer with an affectionate smile. He looked the very definition of a man in his element. 

Kirk realized, suddenly and with surprise, that he was – almost enjoying himself. The exertion of the climb had taken his mind away from his grief. From the deaths of Edith, and Sam, and Aurelan. From the clouds that hung over him, and the painful mortality that seemed to follow wherever he went.

And the freedom from duty that leave from Enterprise involved had lightened his mental load to the point where he was starting to feel - something like himself again. 

He called ahead, “Spock!” 

The Vulcan turned, and something deep in Jim’s chest gave an odd little flutter. The suns of this alien world were beginning to sink towards the horizon, and framed his first officer like a statue of a truly wild, ancient warrior. Spock had once told him tales of pre-reform Vulcan, and he had found their violence and passion hard to reconcile with the cool, logical man before him. But now, framed in the shadows of the mountain, out of uniform, with his hair awry, and his dark eyes reflecting the sunlight of this desert world, Spock looked as if he could have stepped from those tales. 

After a moment, he said, “I’m, er,” he cleared his dry throat, “I’m not complaining or anything, but is it far? Wherever we’re camping?” 

Spock had been remarkably unforthcoming about the details of this trip, but to be fair, he hadn’t really asked, just let him make all the arrangements. 

Spock came back towards him, jumping lightly from the nearest rock, to end in front of him. “It is not. However, if you are fatigued, it would be fine to rest here for up to thirty-seven minutes. We have made excellent time.” 

Jim adjusted his pack, and essayed a smile. “Nope, I’m good. Let’s go.” 

* 

An hour later, he was slightly regretting his haste. Their route had become steeper, and their path narrower. They were rounding the side of a mountain, walking into the waning suns. Kirk screwed up his eyes against their glow, not as fierce as he’d feared, but still almost directly in his face. He was starting to be slightly concerned about the locale of their camp. He was all for exploration, but if they were going to be bedding down on this path, there was a fair chance of him just rolling off it in the night, straight over the severe drop into the valley to his right. He was about to hail Spock again, when the Vulcan rounded a bend in the path ahead, and left his sight. Jim hurried to catch up, but when he reached the curve and looked around it, Spock had disappeared. Jim blinked, and glanced around. The path had widened slightly into a kind of rest area, but there was nothing there that could hide a fully grown man. Other than the drop to his right. But surely, he’d have heard – almost without his conscious violation, his voice raised in an anxious, “_Spock!"_

“I am here, Jim.” He stepped from behind a large rock to Kirk’s immediate left. From Jim’s angle, it had appeared to be flush to the rockface that rose severely towards the sky. He stepped around it curiously, hiding his sudden relief. Behind the rock, a partially concealed opening led further into the cliff. Ducking his head, Kirk followed Spock into the space beyond. 

Almost immediately, the ceiling rose away from him, and he was able to stand with comfortable clearance above his head. The space in front of him opened out and away, to reveal a cave, only slightly smaller than his quarters on the Enterprise. The temperature was immediately, blessedly, cooler than the dry heat outside. The floor was sand and straw, and the interior was still dimly lit by the waning suns. The overall effect was homely, and oddly welcoming. 

Jim turned to Spock. “Is this where we’re camping?” 

“If that is – acceptable?” 

“Actually, It's great. I was worried you were going to make me bivouac on the path.” 

Spock frowned. “That would be most unsafe. The winds can be strong in the mountains at night.” 

Jim dropped his backpack in relief. “Well, that, and the strong possibility of me rolling off.” 

Spock blinked in consternation. “May I suggest you take a sleeping area towards the rear of the cave?” 

Jim was already exploring their small abode. “Is there a way out back here?” 

Spock joined him at the small opening. “Not a way out, it leads deeper into the mountain. There is a water system, including a small river, and a quite remarkably deep lake.” 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “_Inside _the mountain?” 

“Yes. It is replenished in the rainy season. Water seeps through cracks in the rocks and into the mountain, away from the suns, so it is not evaporated.” 

“Hold on. There’s a _ rainy _season?” 

“In this province? Yes.” Spock gave him a vaguely chastising look. “Not all of Vulcan is desert, Jim.” 

“Well, no, I mean, yeah. I knew that.” He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “I’m gonna go have a look.” He moved towards the darker area through the narrow opening. 

To his surprise, Spock laid a gentle, restraining hand on his arm and said firmly. “Perhaps later. Now, we will set up our camp, and eat, before the suns go down.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows at him. “Is this you giving me an order?” 

Spock blinked. “It - was a suggestion merely, based upon -” 

Kirk couldn’t hold his straight face. “Spock, I’m kidding.” He smiled at his first officer, and laid a hand on his arm in turn. “On this trip, you are absolutely giving the orders. God knows, even I get tired of it sometimes.” His smile slipped slightly. 

Spock said quickly, “In that case, Mister Kirk, I would like you set up the sleeping area, whilst I deal with our repast.” 

Kirk assumed a serious expression. “Aye, sir, Mister Spock, sir.” He slipped into a grin, then suddenly laughed. “It's like being a midshipman again.” 

They set to their respective tasks with a will. 

* 

“Jim.” 

"_Jim_."

A gentle hand touched his arm, agitated it slightly. “Jim.” 

Kirk came to awareness with the speed of a man used to being woken, but who nevertheless hadn’t slept nearly long enough. For a moment he couldn’t recall his surroundings. The voice was familiar though. “Spock? Everything okay?” 

“All is well, Jim.” 

Vulcan. Camping. The cave. Which was still dark around them. 

“What time is it?” 

“A little before dawn. The suns will rise shortly.” He became aware of dim light beside him. In its glow, Spock was crouching next to his sleeping bag. Jim stared at him. “Dawn? You want to go somewhere _ now_?” 

“Only outside the cave. Come.” He stood, and moved towards the entrance. 

Jim stumbled to his feet and threw his friend’s retreating back the baleful look of a man who very rarely got a chance to lie in, and had been quite looking forward to the opportunity. The temperature had dropped noticeably in the night, and he shivered suddenly as he left the warm cocoon of his sleeping bag. As he stepped outside, Spock wordlessly handed him a blanket, and they sat side by side, backs against the cliff, looking out into a dark valley that was slowly lightening before their eyes. 

Jim huddled into the unexpected warmth of his blanket, and yawned. He had no idea what this was about, but in lieu of a red alert, there was a good chance he’d just fall back to sleep sitting up. The previous evening, he’d found Bones' surprise 'medicinal' flask in the bottom of his bag, and he could still feel the pleasant buzz through his system of just slightly too much bourbon. 

In front of him, the world started to change color as the first of Vulcan’s suns almost crested the horizon. The sky began to unroll before him like a living oil painting – first a deep scarlet, then a spectacular, glorious orange, then finally a warm, vibrant gold. Jim felt some of his tiredness begin to slip away at the sight. 

He was about pass a quiet comment on the beauty of the view before them, when Vulcan’s second sun neared the horizon. An entire quarter of the sky to their right changed color, and a fierce, dominating red began to reclaim its territory. As the advancing red mixed with the dawning light of the first sun, the entire horizon seemed aflame. The sky above their heads was now a dark, depthless blue, replacing the black, and already, tendrils of red light were beginning to burn at its edges. 

Kirk stared in quiet awe. The colors streaked across the sky, every shade imaginable and some he had never even dreamed. He tilted his head to see the sky above them. Dimly, stars were still visible, in open defiance of the advancing storm of light. 

He looked down again. The light had reached the mountains, but the depths of the valley were still dark. He watched as the light crept closer, down the edges of the mountains on either side. Then it happened. The first of the golden light hit the lowest point of the valley, and a flame of gold ignited. It spread like fire towards them, a river of golden light that lit the earth around it, and shone like precious metal in the riotous colours of the sky.

Against the beauty before him, Jim forgot his grief, his ship, and all the complexities of his life. He felt, for the first time in a long while, as if there were nothing in the galaxy but this extraordinary moment, against which he was an insignificant part of an incredible whole. He realised he was holding his breath.

They sat for a long while in the dawn silence, as the heavens treated them to a celestial show of unparalleled, moving, beauty. 

Eventually Jim said, quietly, “Spock, is this – do people come and see this?” 

Spock said, matching his quiet, reverential tone, “Not to my knowledge. As you experienced, it is difficult to access.” 

“How did – how did you know it was here?” 

There was the barest hesitation, then Spock said, “I stumbled across it, many years ago.” 

“Hiking holiday?” 

“No.” After a silence, Spock said, ”I had – run away from home.” 

Kirk tore his eyes from the view and looked at his friend. “_You_? Ran away from home? Why?” 

“My father had informed me that I would not be admitted to attend Starfleet Academy. I had passed all of the entrance tests. The academy had made it known they were enthusiastic at the notion of a Vulcan joining Starfleet. But my father – refused to countenance it. I had also passed the examinations to enter the Vulcan Science Academy. They were impressed with my performance. Apparently, my combined scores were - a record at that time. It was a foregone conclusion that I would attend.” 

“But you didn’t.” Kirk stared at him, as the light around them brightened. Spock’s face was shadowed in red and gold. 

“As I have previously relayed to you, my father and I – disagreed on the subject. So I packed a bag and left. I realized that I would need some time to consider what I wanted to do.” 

“Join Starfleet. Against his wishes.” 

“Yes. I came to the mountains to think. To consider if I truly wished to leave behind all I had known, and live amongst alien strangers. I passed a number of nights here, and one sleepless night, I saw - this.” He nodded towards the panorama in front of them. 

Jim took it in again, then looked back to his friend. “How close was it? Did you seriously consider – not joining Starfleet?” 

“Yes.” Spock looked thoughtful with remembrance. “Merely to study at the VSA is considered an achievement. My scores indicated that I would do well. Bring honour to my family name. I was not insensible to the merits of that idea. It would be a chance to prove, once and for all, that I was every bit as Vulcan as my peers, if not more so.” He cast a slightly abashed glance at Kirk. “It was – not logical.” 

Kirk smiled. “Sounds pretty logical to me. But - what made you decide for Starfleet?” 

Spock hesitated for a long moment. “I had privately considered the possibility from the moment I first heard of Starfleet, but in all honesty, I – cannot truly recall. I remember - sitting here all night, turning it over in my mind, making endless arguments with myself for and against each choice. Looking to the stars.”

His voice had quietened with the effort of recall, and Kirk listened in fascination. “Eventually I believe I was so tired that I simply – stopped thinking. Then the suns rose. And I knew where I would go.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Nineteen.” 

Jim drew his blanket around him. “I don’t like the thought of you out here, on your own, making a decision like that.” 

Spock gave him his almost smile. “There was no one to whom I could speak.” 

The otherworldly dawn light had crept around them as they talked, and Kirk could see his friend clearly now. The idea that a younger, torn version of Spock could have chosen differently, all those years ago, did not bear thinking about. He said suddenly, “Where were you sitting?” 

“Jim?” 

“Where were you sitting? When you decided.” 

Spock looked around him in mild confusion, then indicated a space on the ground, next to Kirk. “I believe, here. But why-“ 

Jim said, “I read a book once. Purported the theory that time is actually an illusion. That really everything is happening at once, and our minds simply filter it into an illusion of time, so we don’t get overwhelmed.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“In which case,” Jim continued, “nineteen-year-old you is here _now_, and I think he needs to hear another opinion on the issue.” 

A second eyebrow joined the first. 

And maybe it was bourbon, or sleep deprivation, but Jim cleared his throat, and addressed the air next to him with a serious air. “Spock? Nineteen-year-old S’chn T’gai Spock, out on the lam? You don’t know me, and you won’t for a few years yet, but listen up, this is important. I know everything is against it right now, but you need to join Starfleet. Because It will be immeasurably poorer without you. And you’ll be setting a trail for others to follow. You’ll be the first Vulcan to attend the Academy, but not the last. 

“My name is James Kirk, and I’m a Captain in Starfleet. It’s 2267 right now, and you’re my first officer, and frankly, at this point, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You are the finest officer - the finest person - I know. And that incredible mind of yours? Don’t worry, we’ll put it to use. And not just in research, and study – in saving lives. Mine, my crews, many times over. We need you. I know it’s a big ask, Spock, and I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but - I need you. Come to Earth. Join Starfleet. I’ll be waiting.” 

He looked up at his friend, who was watching him with an oddly vulnerable expression of bemusement. 

“There. The other side of the argument. It’s only fair. And – you’re here. So, it worked.” 

“Jim, I believe you to be possibly inebriated, and definitely sleep deprived.” 

Kirk fought a yawn. “Well, yes. Doesn’t make it any less true though.” He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “And that -” he gestured to the vista before them, “was absolutely worth losing sleep over.” His smile warmed. “Thank you. For everything. But especially this.” 

Spock didn’t reply for a long moment, and then he said, in a quiet voice, “You are most welcome, Jim.” 

Kirk fought another yawn. 

Spock added, “We have no duties today. And you appear to be still tired. It would be logical to avail yourself of the opportunity to asleep.” 

Jim said, with a half smile, “I might do that, actually. Some more shuteye couldn’t hurt.” 

“I believe Doctor McCoy would concur.” 

He shuffled to his feet, laying an affectionate hand on his first officer’s shoulder as he passed, returned to his sleeping bag, and fell asleep in minutes. 

* 

They spent the day exploring the surrounding area, and the water system. Kirk insisted on swimming in the underground lake, to Spock’s mild consternation, but no amount of persuasion could make him join in. 

Evening found Jim outside the cave again, fed and watered, and watching the beginnings of a sunset, which, whilst not as spectacular as the morning’s effort, still promised to be impressive. He glanced back at the mouth of their cave, wondering if he should hurry Spock’s meditation along so he didn’t miss it. Although given what Spock’s mind was capable of, resting it in meditation seemed like something that shouldn’t be interrupted. He thought again of that – what had Spock called it? The mind meld. He had intended to speak to Spock further about that, but events had got in the way. He turned his thoughts to it now. He still couldn’t see any flaw in his reasoning for why they should meld. And this would be the perfect time to raise it. Relaxed, off duty, no pressure. 

When Spock emerged from their cave, half an hour later, Jim had had thirty minutes to come up with a way to work the meld subtly into conversation. And had failed. As Spock took his place in front of their view, he decided to simply broach the matter head on. 

He said, “You know, I’ve, er, I’ve been thinking.” 

Spock looked across at him expectantly. 

“D’you remember, after the Tantalus colony, we talked about the mind meld? And, well, I was there for the incident with the Horta.” 

“I recall.” 

Kirk cleared his throat. “So, it occurred to me, like I said before, that - melding - could be really useful. And I’m thinking particularly of you being able to tell, without a doubt, that the person you are talking to is me. I mean, we’re barely eighteen months into a five-year mission, and I’ve been duplicated twice. It’s hardly a reassuring precedent for the next three years.” 

Spock said slowly, “Indeed.” 

“Right, so you can see the advantage of you knowing exactly what my mind is like – I mean, I’m assuming here that they are like fingerprints, no two the same, right?” 

“I would aver that minds are far more distinguishable.” 

“Great. Even better.” He added, encouraged, “And you said it might be possible to teach me the basics of defending my mind against attack, I mean, again, if the last year is anything to go by, that would be valuable too.” 

"That - is so."

When nothing further was forthcoming, Kirk said, uncertainly, “Spock, this is in no way, shape, or form, an order. I know this is a deeply personal thing to Vulcans, and if you don’t want to, that’s reason enough not to do it, I just thought I’d suggest it.” 

After a silent moment, when Jim wondered if he’d said something wildly inappropriate, Spock said, “You would _ wish _– to meld with me?” 

“Yes.” 

“When we return to the ship?” 

“I was thinking more – now, actually.” 

Spock stared. “_Now_?” 

“No time like the present, and all that.” He essayed a hopeful smile. “And I’d rather the first time we did this not be in the middle of a red alert, or something.” 

Spock said, uncertainly, “The first time?” 

“Oh, I mean,” Kirk felt himself almost flush. “You know, in case we ever have to – er, again. And you have suggested it, in the past -” he broke off. 

Spock looked concerned. “Jim, I would never force a meld upon you, and in the circumstances of you being replaced, it is highly likely any duplicate would refuse the mind touch.” 

Kirk spread his hands. “And that in itself would be confirmation. Because I wouldn’t.” 

Spock blinked, “Jim, you cannot state that with any certainty. Humans find the mind touch invasive -” 

Kirk made a noise of irritation. “Spock, we’re not talking about _anyone_. We’re talking about you, and me. If you asked, because you had a reasonable suspicion of my identity, what _ possible _justification could I have to refuse? Especially if we’d done it already, and I knew what to expect?” 

“Perhaps you would have information you desired to protect.” 

“You’re going to show me how to do that.” 

Spock said, uncertainly, “Jim, I understand the argument you are making, and it is not without validity, but you are correct, the meld is a private thing, and – you are quite certain you should wish to undertake it, with me, for the reasons you have stated?” 

“Absolutely.” He eyed his first officer, suddenly uncertain. “But, obviously, only if you want to, as well.” 

“I would not be – unamenable.” 

“That sounded like Vulcan for yes.” Kirk grinned. “Great.” He looked at Spock expectantly. “So then. What do we do?” 

Spock blinked, and cleared his throat. “We must sit closer, facing each other. Please relax as much as you are able, and clear your mind to the best of your ability. I will - initiate a surface meld, when you indicate that you are ready.” 

Kirk shuffled himself round, so he was facing his first officer, trying to ignore the way his heartrate had kicked up, and his palms had decided to sweat. Spock reseated himself more elegantly. 

Kirk took a few deep breaths, quashing a sudden spike of anxiety. When it was gone, he nodded. “Right. I’m good.” 

* 

Spock slowly reached across the small gap towards his friend's face. Kirk was watching him closely. He withdrew his hand slightly, and said, “Jim, it is – traditional – to close one's eyes during a meld to allow the focus to be entirely inward.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Kirk closed his eyes. 

Spock took a slow, centring breath, and once again reached for his friend. As he did so, Kirk’s left eye cracked open. He stopped. 

“Jim-” 

“Just checking you were still there.” Kirk quirked a smile at him, then closed his eyes again. 

Spock suppressed amusement, and the oddly nervous sensation in his gut. This would be a light meld only, with a stable, familiar mind. There was no cause for concern. 

He reached for his friend again. As his fingers were about to light on Jim’s skin, he felt it. An odd energy pulsed between his fingers and the skin beneath them. Like a touching an electrical field, or opening a working plasma conduit. He hesitated. He had the strangest sensation that closing that tiny gap would complete an exposed, waiting circuit, the consequence of which he was at a loss to understand. 

Before him, Jim released a quiet, steadying breath, and Spock realised with sudden relief that Jim was nervous too. Chiding himself for his foolishness in delaying, he pressed his fingers lightly into place against the warm skin beneath them, and closed his eyes. 

_ My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. _

* 

_ Rateg City, Romulus, Stardate: 48597.28 (Terran Calendar: 7__th _ _ June 2371) _

Spock sent a final message, then lowered the console back into the desk. All was arranged. His contacts on Romulus had not been happy. Palena had cried. Her husband, Toven, had been more stoic, but there had been a tremble in his voice as he said his farewell. It occurred to Spock that they had, perhaps, been more emotionally invested in his presence here than he had ever realised. 

No matter. Their movement would continue, with or without him. A stronger relationship between their peoples seemed closer now. He was almost sorry he would not live to see it. He rose slowly to his feet, crossed to the narrow bed, and sank down onto its marginally more comfortable surface with relief. He would meditate for a short time, then sleep. 

He leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. One of the few advantages of his oncoming time was that he no longer felt the cold as bitterly as he had. The embers of pon farr had begun to glow, and with them, the bone deep cold was no longer so acute. It was, ironically, a relief. 

He estimated he had about fourteen days before he was past the point of no return. More than enough time to get to Vulcan. Fourteen days. Two Earth weeks. How strange, to know the span of one’s remaining time in this universe. 

He would have enough time to put his remaining affairs in order when he reached Vulcan. There was no-one left now who would mourn his passing deeply enough to be concerned about. He thought, briefly, of Saavik, and resolved to write to her upon his return to Vulcan. It was the least he could do. And his worldly goods, such as they were, would be hers to dispose of as she wished. 

As he slipped towards a meditative state, he allowed, as he never usually did, his mind to wander. It went, inevitably, to his first bondmate. His T’hy’la. He allowed the indulgence. What did it matter now? James Kirk. Smiling at him. Laughing. On the bridge of the Enterprise. In their apartment in San Francisco. On the surface of some alien world. Always driven, always passionate, always with his eyes on the stars. Reaching back for him. _ Come on, Spock._ He had no certain knowledge that he would see Jim again, but it had seemed to him for some time now that he had earned the right. That no universe, however dark, however cruel, would leave him in this isolation forever. He would see Jim again. See him smile. Hear his voice. Soon. There was no way it could be otherwise. 

He distracted himself for a moment, imagining what Jim’s first words to him could be, after almost eighty years of silence. Perhaps – _You took your time_. His bondmate had always had a slightly inappropriate sense of humor, even in their worst situations. Perhaps _\- I missed you_. He had been romantic too, in his overtly emotional, human way. Perhaps - 

“It’s freezing in here.” 

Spock frowned to himself. That did not seem likely - 

“This room is – not good.” 

Spock opened his eyes. 

James Kirk was standing on the other side of his small room, looking around him in mild irritation. “Why don’t you even have a heater?” He shot a severe look at the seated Vulcan. “You’re terrible in the cold, you know you are. You hate it. And It’s like being cuddled by an icicle.” 

Spock stared in frozen shock. This was the Jim of his most recent memories, not the young Captain his mind had conjured two days ago, but the older Captain he had been just before - 

“Where are we, anyway?” 

It was a simple enough question to answer. Spock croaked, almost automatically, around a sudden severe constriction in his throat, “Romulus.” 

Kirk’s head snapped round. He stopped his hunt for a source of warmth, came a little closer, and lowered his voice. “What the hell are we doing on _ Romulus_?” 

Spock closed his eyes. It must be a side effect of the oncoming fever, combined with exhaustion, and emotional stress. It wouldn’t be the first time his pon farr had taken him by surprise. The first time, in fact, he had been troublingly slow to realize its presence at all. 

“Spock. Are we safe here?” 

This was, without a doubt, the most realistic manifestation his subconscious had ever created. Strange, that it should happen now. He had hallucinated in the past, but always under the influence of some pathogen, or illness. And never during his time. He breathed deeply once, and then again, centering himself. 

“_Spock_. Are we _ safe_?” 

He opened his eyes. Far from disappearing, Jim was looking at him, impatient, waiting for an answer. He said, entirely without conscious intervention, “Yes, this area is secure.” 

Kirk nodded. “Good. So. Back to my first question. Why are we here?” 

Spock wondered if the entire last fourteen days of life would be interspersed with visions of his dead bondmate. At least a part of him hoped so, although if this was some hallucination designed by his mind to ease his passing, he wondered why it was so concerned with his location. And the temperature. However, he had spent many years of his life trying to answer every question James Kirk posed, so it was with force of old habit that he heard himself say, “I have been seeking the unification of the Romulan and Vulcan peoples.” 

Kirk stared at him for a long moment in disbelief. Then laughed. He looked away, ran a hand across his face, and looked back to Spock. “Of course, you have. First the Klingons, now the Romulans. It’s the logical next step.” 

Spock blinked. “Indeed.” 

Kirk laughed again, and shook his head. “So. Setting aside for the moment the likelihood of that happening – what do you need from me?” 

“Jim?” 

“Why am I _ here,_ Spock?” 

“I - I do not know.” 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Spock felt the cold air of the room on the back of his neck, and an unsettled sensation around his heart. This was Jim. His T’hy’la. A product of his own feverish imagination, and desperate dreams. Why did he not know all that Spock knew? Why did he – question? 

The younger Kirk of two days ago had asked no questions, merely gazed at him as he once had in life – like Spock was the shining centre of all that was wonderful in the universe. This Kirk – was challenging him. As he had also done in life. But it seemed – wrong, somehow. After all this time, should not his Jim – even a fantasy of Jim - be – pleased to see him? Be once again the source of warmth and love that had been absent for so many long, empty years? 

Then Kirk squinted at him, and frowned. He said, suddenly, “Spock – you look – are you okay?” 

It crossed his mind not to answer, to simply lie down and sleep until the vision went away. But he could not. This was Jim, and he found he no longer cared for the hardness of reality, or the effect of the fever. If this fantasy of Jim wanted answers, he could have them. 

“I am in the early stages of pon farr.” 

Kirk blinked in surprise, and then his face broke into a relieved smile. “Spock, why didn’t you just say so? That explains it, then.” His eyes slid down to where Spock was sitting. “Please tell me there’s another bed.” He walked across, leaned down, and eyed the thin mattress with distain. “This isn’t a bed, it’s a shelf. We’ve got to do better than this. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Closer now, he met his bondmate’s eyes, and his smile faded slightly. “And - neither are you.” 

He straightened. Stared hard at Spock’s face. “How – how old are you?” 

“One hundred and forty-one.” 

Kirk took a step back. His smile had vanished entirely, and in its place was a look of suspicion. “No. No, that’s not right. You’ve never been older than sixty-three.” 

Sixty-three. He had been sixty-three at the time of Jim’s death. The realisation came unbidden and made his response harsher than intended. “I have been older than sixty-three for seventy-eight years.” 

Kirk looked at him in disbelief. “No, you haven’t.” 

Spock snapped, “This is illogical. You are a product of my imagination. You therefore know my status. You can clearly see my age. I fail to see the benefit of this hallucination.” He closed his eyes again. He merely needed to centre himself, to - 

“_What_? I’m not a product of your imagination.” He opened his eyes to see Jim looking at him in irritation. “I don’t know how this works exactly, but somehow, _ you’re _ a product of _ mine_, and you are sixty-three. Sometimes. I think. You have been. Dammit. Why can’t I remember?” 

He walked away from the bed and slumped into the desk chair. “It’s going wrong again. This always happens. Not usually this fast though.” He dropped his head into his hands. 

Spock felt, for one of the few times in his life, like he was out of his depth. But, as in those times too, there was something here he could cling to. James Kirk needed his help. He said, uncertainly, “What has gone wrong?” 

Kirk looked up. “Let me guess, hold on.” He raised his hand. “You’re in pon farr. And we’re on Romulus. For some inexplicable reason, but I’ll roll with it. It’s different, at least. So, what happens now? We have sex, but when we should meld, it’s, oh sorry, Jim, I’m old now, so no bonding? I’m assuming that’ll be the excuse, anyway.” He jumped to his feet, addressing the ceiling of Spock’s small room. “I’ve had enough, do you hear me? I want _ Spock_. The _ real _ one. I want _ out of here._” 

“Jim, who are you talking to? Where is here?” 

Kirk rounded on him. “I don’t know!” His shoulders slumped, and he repeated, more quietly. “I don’t know. I think – I think it’s starting to mess with my memory. Sometimes – I'm getting close to figuring something out, and then – everything changes again, and you’re different, and I’m no closer to an answer.” He thumped the nearest wall with the side of his fist. “_Stop showing me what I can’t have! _” 

Spock watched him in increasing concern. Jim – or whoever, whatever, this was – was distressed. This could not be borne. He said, as firmly as he could manage, “Jim, what is it you want? Let me help.” 

Kirk turned to him. “You.” Spock saw, with distress, that Jim was close to tears. “I just - want - _ you_. I’ve had everything else. Done everything else. Anything I’ve ever wanted. But – I want you. I always have. And I keep seeing you. Over, and over. But it’s just – your body, and sometimes, a glimpse of your mind, but – your _ soul_, Spock. It’s not there. When we’re together, when we meld, it’s just - “ he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “it’s just – empty.” He gazed at his lover in despair. “I miss you. So much.” 

Spock felt a wave of grief threaten his equilibrium. He said roughly, “And I, you, ashayam.” 

Kirk gave a huff of bitter laughter. “Yeah, you would say that. You always _ say _ the right things.” 

“Jim, I have missed your smile, your voice, your body, your _ mind_, and your _ soul_, for _ seventy-eight years_.” As he spoke, his voice grew louder. Years of pent up anger, and grief, and loss, “I lived every day in the knowledge that my T'hy’la is dead. That no bond could be as strong, that no-one else could be to me what you have been. And _ now _ you come to me, and accuse _ me _ of absence? Of retaining from you my soul? Jim, I did not. I have not. It is now, and always has been, yours. I would have given it for you gladly, but _ I was not the one who died_.” He was aware that his control was beginning to slip. The last words were almost shouted. An accusation. 

Deeply unfair. Entirely illogical. But true. 

Kirk’s eyes had gone wide. He whispered, “I’m not dead. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s happening – but I know that. I’m _ not dead_, Spock.” 

Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Jim. The bond – broke.” Searing pain, worse than anything he had ever felt before, or since. “You - were - gone.” 

They stared at each other for long moments. Years, decades of memories swirled between them. Nights of love, and passion, days of friendship, of loyalty, and loss. Long, empty years of grief. 

Suddenly, almost desperately, Jim said, “Meld with me.” 

Agonizing seconds stretched by. 

With every fiber of his being, Spock wanted to. But the pain of failure, of this vision being insubstantial, would be too much to bear. 

And yet – And yet - he had seen wonders in his years of life. It would be a miracle to beat them all, but if anyone could defy death... 

Kirk was watching him, silent but breathing hard, looking at him as if he could read every thought passing through his mind. He said, intensely, quietly, “Spock. _ Please_.” 

Spock felt a treacherous spark of hope light in his chest. He rose, took a hesitant step forward, then another. Within arm's length. He raised his hand, the trembling of which he could not hope to prevent, and reached for the missing part of his soul. 

Kirk closed his eyes. Spock’s fingers hesitated, millimeters away from that beloved face. As he moved to close that final distance, he felt – something. A feeling as familiar as breathing, but long, long gone. A warmth, a fire, an electricity, that belonged to only one mind, one soul. 

He said, a barely whispered croak of disbelief, “_Jim_?” 

* 

_ Vulcan, 2267 _

For the first few moments, there was nothing. Then, gently: 

_ Jim? _

** _ Spock_**_? _

_ Yes _

_ I can _ ** _ hear _ ** _ you. In my _ ** _ mind._**

_ That is usual in a meld. There is no cause for alarm. _

Alongside the thought but indivisible from it, like a shadow, or a frame, or a heartbeat, came the feeling. Spock was – slightly anxious. Concerned about his reaction to this intimate mental sharing. 

_ I’m not alarmed, Spock. This is – this is _ ** _ amazing_**_. I've never felt anything like it. _

He wondered if the emotional sharing went two ways. If Spock could sense his absolute sincerity, his genuine excitement at this new field of discovery for a psy-null human. The answer came almost immediately. 

_ That is – gratifying. _ The feeling behind the thought was grateful. And relieved. And a little amused. _ It has been my experience that humans are generally suspicious of Vulcan mental techniques. _There was something a little darker behind that thought. A sadness, a sense of isolation, that Kirk immediately disliked. 

_ Well they don’t know what they’re missing, this is extraordinary. _

The longer the meld went on, the more he seemed able to sense. Not just Spock’s thoughts, and the feeling behind them, but a dim sense of Spock himself. Discipline, and warmth, and logic, and passion, and intelligence, and wit, and – it was intoxicating. He tried to reach further for that elusive self, then stopped himself. 

_ Is this okay? I’m not – doing anything wrong here, am I? _

Spock’s thought came back, affectionate and amused. _ If you were, I would most assuredly be able to stop you. _

_ Oh yeah, good point. You’ve done this before. _

_ I have. _

And there was a flash of something behind that thought. So brief that Jim wasn’t sure if he was interpreting it correctly, but it seemed like Spock had briefly compared all the previous melds he had undertaken and found them – less appealing than this one. 

The thought was encouraging. 

_Okay, Spock, show me something. If someone was trying to get information out of my mind, and I wanted to hide it, or stop them, how would I do that? _

He felt, with some amusement, Spock’s mind switch over from friend to teacher immediately._ It would depend on what technique was being utilised. As you are psy-null, any defence would be less effective than the same technique utilised by a telepath, however, I believe the following, as a basic shielding technique would still be useful_.

Slowly, carefully, like an adult teaching a child, he outlined the basic steps, and Jim followed along as best he could. After some time, he had actually managed to shield a single thought entirely from Spock’s gentle interrogation, and was feeling pretty proud of himself. 

_ That was good, right? _

_ You are a most able student. _

_ This is an exercise for little kids, isn’t it? _

_ Yes. _

He sighed mentally. _ Well, it’s always good to learn new things. _

_ Indeed. _

_ Let’s try something else. _

_ Jim, are you certain you wish to continue? It would be entirely usual to grow fatigued, as you are unused to the meld. _

_ No, I’m good. _ He clamped down on the sudden sense of loss that Spock’s offer to end the meld had invoked. 

_ Well then, what would you like to try? _

_ You hide a thought from me, and I’ll try and get it. _

_ Jim, your enthusiasm is laudable, but you will not succeed. _

_ You know, that wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that. _

_ I do not doubt it. _

_Then, let’s go, Mister Certainty. _

_ What thought shall I shield from you _? He was, very definitely, being patiently humoured. 

Jim thought for a second, then: _ I know. It’s my birthday in a few weeks. McCoy said you’d sounded him out on potential presents. _

Without even a thought, there was very definitely a mild irritation from Spock’s side of the meld. 

_ I know, right? If it’s medically-related you couldn’t pry the information out of him with a crowbar. But if it’s not, he’s the worst gossip on the ship. So, you think about what you’ve decided to get me, and I will try and find out. _

_ Very well. I have shielded the thought in question. _

_ Right. Okay. Here I go. _

* 

As Jim’s mind became absorbed in prying the edges of his own for birthday-related information, Spock was forced to admit to himself that he was finding this entire experience far more pleasing than he had allowed himself to hope. Far from his concerns around Jim feeling mentally invaded, or hostile, his Captain seemed to be regarding the whole experience as another frontier to explore, and approaching it with the same curious, open minded enthusiasm as he did exploration aboard the _Enterprise_. 

He felt, with mild amusement, that Jim had identified the particular shield behind which the knowledge of his present lay, and was currently seeing if he could demolish it with sheer force of will. Concerned that he might tire, Spock was about to suggest they desist, when suddenly his Captain changed his approach. The shift in tactics was so unexpected, it took a moment for Spock to realise that Kirk had stopped trying to break down his mental shield behind which the thought lay. 

Images, thoughts, impressions - all of Jim - random, disconnected, memories - began to flicker at increasing speed around the edge of his conscious mind. They began with Spock's most prominent mental image - Jim on the bridge, his Captain, but became quickly more personal - a chess game, a talk about David, listening to music, discussing Earth's literature - with surprise bordering on disbelief, Spock realised that instead of approaching the thought directly, through Spock's shield, Jim was looking through the unshielded portion of his mind - and why would he shield events that Jim had shared from Jim himself? - and following the trail of Spock's thoughts- the memories Spock himself had used when deciding what Jim would appreciate as a gift. 

In other circumstances, he would admire the ingenuity of the tactic, but all his thought was momentarily occupied with the idea that Jim _ should not be able to do this._ Not with his psy rating. Not with this level of ease. It was as if his mind was already familiar with the paths through which it trod. The images of Jim were becoming more personal, as his Captain moved quickly past the surface of their relationship, to its emotional heart. The memories slowed, as Jim himself reacted to their emotional impact, and became distracted from his search. Spock moved quickly to end their mental connection without making the break too abrupt, but he was too slow to stop the last memory: himself - being held by Jim after their confrontation on the evening the _Enterprise_ had left Talos IV. He felt again the grief, the deep guilt, at his destruction of this most precious relationship, and his intense relief, his profound gratitude at even the possibility of Jim's forgiveness, and the guilt that lingered even now. 

He felt Jim's own emotions rising at the reminder, and braced for anger, betrayal, but there was none, instead he heard Jim's mental voice, gentle and certain. _ Let it go, Spock. You're forgiven. Months ago. I owe you my life, my ship, a dozen times over. _

Behind the thoughts lay Jim's desire to be believed, to communicate Spock's importance to him, and he felt, for the first time since that long-ago meld with his mother, affection for himself in the mind of another. But where the quality of that affection had been encompassing, embracing all of him without any differentiation or quarter, this was different. Jim's affection for him - and that word seemed inadequate to cover the multiple emotions that were tangled within it - was almost laser focussed in its intensity, touching every positive quality Jim perceived in him, and magnifying it, taking those things that Spock himself saw as weaknesses, faults, and finding the good in them, seeing every disparate aspect of Spock's nature, and binding them together in a whole that was infinitely greater than the sum of its parts. Spock felt as if he could see the tendrils of Jim's affection, reaching into his very soul. It was overwhelming: wonderful, impossible, and deeply unsettling. 

_ Jim, we must end the meld. _

_ Oh. Okay. _ _ Is _ _ this enough, will you know _ _ it's _ _ me now, if we meld again? _

_ With a high degree of certainty. _

_ One hundred percent certain? _

He was not fast enough to cover his doubt. 

_What_?

_ It would be theoretically possible, as has been done before, to replicate your mind at a surface level, in a way that I might be convinced by a _ _ low-level _ _ meld such as this. _

_ How do we get to one hundred percent _ _ certainty? _

_ I would need to – deepen the meld. Go beyond surface thoughts and impressions. _

_ Is that – would that be okay? Can you do that? _

_ Yes, but Jim, you are not trained in such things. You might share more than you would intend. _

_ Given what would be at stake if I were replaced, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. _

Spock hesitated. They should stop. This has already gone on much longer than he had intended. 

_ Very well. I will be brief. _

He lowered his shields and reached further into Jim’s mind. Beyond the conscious thoughts, beyond the surface feelings, was the core of his friend, his Captain: radiant and passionate, curious and loving, and uniquely, wonderfully, Jim. A glimpse was enough. This could not, could never, be replicated. He slowly, carefully, began to withdraw, and to end the meld. 

As he did so, a part of Jim’s mind seemed to reach for him, to prevent his leaving. He stopped in confusion. This was Jim's mind, but not of Jim’s conscious volition. This was – something else. Hesitantly, he reached back for it. He felt again, briefly, that overwhelming affection, and then – the tendrils of affection he had sensed before flared into solid, golden life as if a touch paper had been lit, too fast for him to prevent, and streamed into his mind like wildfires of molten warmth, and love, and devotion, and faith. 

He broke the meld in shock. 

When he opened his eyes, Jim was blinking at him in mild consternation. “Wow, Spock, a little warning next time? I was enjoying that.” His face split into a grin. “I was close, wasn’t I?” 

Spock stared at him. “I’m - I’m sorry, Captain?” 

“The present. I nearly got it, didn’t I?” 

“I - I – yes, you did.” 

“Ha! Knew it. Will not succeed, my eye.” On Spock’s expression, his smile faltered, and his face grew concerned. “Spock, you okay? Did I – do something wrong? Was that – too much? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have insisted. I know this is such a personal thing, I -” 

He looked so genuinely worried that Spock interrupted quickly, “No, Jim, it is I that should apologise. I allowed the experience to go on far longer than I should have done with a mind inexperienced in the meld.” 

Kirk waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Like I said, I enjoyed it. I’m a bit envious to be honest, I can’t imagine being able to do – _that_ \- with anyone. Amazing.” He smiled again, then looked at Spock in concern. “Spock, you look a bit pale. Are you sure you’re okay?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “Hold on. I’ll get you some water. Stay there.” 

As Kirk stood, and moved back into the cave, Spock raised his hand in front of his face. He felt like he should be able to see some evidence of that meld. Like a plasma burn, or a brand. But there was nothing. Only a slight trembling betrayed the depth of his disturbance. What had just happened? Jim was apparently unaffected. Why had the shock been his alone? 

He reviewed his physical responses. His pulse was elevated, and in defiance of the temperature that was beginning to fall around them, he felt suddenly almost – feverish. He closed his eyes, moved his attention inward, and took conscious control of his physical responses. His heartrate slowed, and he felt cooler. Whatever it was, had passed. Perhaps, when they returned to the Enterprise, he should consult Doctor McCoy. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Kirk dropped back into his place at his side. “Drink this.” he squinted at Spock in the fading light. “That’s a bit better. You were quite flushed there for a second.” 

“I am well, thank you, Jim.” He drank as instructed. 

Kirk leaned back against the rock, reassured. After a moment he said, absently, “I'm glad we did that. There’s something comforting about knowing, whatever happens, you’ll always recognise me.” A though occurred, and he added, “I bet it works two ways as well – if you were replaced, and we melded, d'you think I’d know?” 

Spock blinked. “I am unsure. Did you feel as if the meld revealed enough unique properties of my mind to identify me beyond doubt in the future?” 

Kirk smiled at him with open affection. “Spock, I’d know you anywhere, I’m sure of it. A year from now, a decade from now, hell, a century from now.” 

* 

_ Rateg City, Romulus, 2371 _

Kirk's eyes flew open. Spock had a less than a second to take in their flare of hope; their fierce, aching love.

"_Sp-_"

And then he was gone. 

Spock stood frozen in the chill silence of his room. Somewhere in his throat, a howl of despair threatened to slip its bonds. He drew one breath. Then another. A bitter, vicious anger began to rise. This was _ enough_. He had indulged his mind’s wanderings for too long. Well, no more. There would be no more dreams. No more hallucinations. James Kirk would no longer be a feature of his mental landscape. Jim would be, as he should have been many years before, finally, truly dead. 

And soon, Spock would join him. 

Perhaps then, perhaps only then, would he know peace. 

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t seen it, someone has set the lovely Madeline Miller quote that opens this chapter to K/S gifs, and it is a thing of absolute beauty:  
https://ophelia-j.tumblr.com/post/189155495792/pywren-madeline-miller-the-song-of 
> 
> For those of you concerned about Old Spock, I’ve almost sure this is as bad as it gets for him. Almost. Someone asked in the comments if he would be going through with his dying scheme, and the current direction of travel is no. There was a draft plan of this fic where Kirk and Spock were only united in death as their younger selves (a la Titanic) but I’m almost sure that my muse has decided not to go that way (*eyes muse nervously*). Mainly because neither of us likes Kirk dying in Generations without seeing Spock again, at a time when Spock is canonically alive. That’s just...wrong. As someone else wisely said in the comments: he couldn’t just be happy, you bastards?! 
> 
> Up next: Let’s be honest, if I foreshadowed any less subtly in this chapter, I’d just be stood next to you shouting "Pon farr!”


	11. Blood Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the title gives it away, but for the sake of form:
> 
> Scenes set before, during, and after Amok Time.
> 
> This is Amok Time - Part One, I guess, because the full chapter ran to nearly 20k words and that seemed a bit much for one chapter? And that was me keeping the muse on a short leash! Seriously, this episode!!
> 
> Um. I am bad at the rating system on AO3 because I am the British cliché of sexual repression and therefore almost anything is Explicit to me. And I am BAD at writing anything even remotely sex-related. But this being Amok Time, my muse felt like I should make the effort, so there is a scene in this chapter that's a little bit not Gen, and I don't want to corrupt young, impressionable minds, so I went with T. Let me know if I did wrong either way.
> 
> **Edit: Missing scene is back in! My bad, sorry!**
> 
> Right. Deep breath. Here we go.

_ Main lab, USS Enterprise, eight days after shore leave, ship’s time 18.30 _   
  
Spock raised his hand, and stared at in it in consternation. The trembling came again. He lowered it, glancing quickly around the lab. The only other occupant of this section, Lieutenant Carla Raines, was occupied with her own work, and not looking in his direction.   
  
He looked down at his hands. This was not the first time they had trembled this week. It was, however, the first time he had been unable to stop it. He breathed slowly, relaxing his muscles, and bringing his physical responses under conscious control. After a moment, he raised his hand from where it was braced against the lab's main work station. For a moment, he felt a stab of relief as it remained still. Then the trembling began again, worse than before.   
  
He quickly lowered his hand back to the cool surface. He had been debating whether to consultant Doctor McCoy all week. It was beginning to look as if his premise that this was a temporary aberration he would be able to control himself had been based upon false assumptions.   
  
A quiet voice near him, said, “Sir?”   
  
Spock's heart leapt, and he turned quickly. Behind him, T'Pring regarded him with cool distain. He started, and blinked in shock. The dark hair, Vulcan ears, and severe expression resolved themselves into the dark hair, very human ears, and concerned expression of Carla Raines. How had he not heard her approach?  
  
He said, harsher than he had intended, “What, Lieutenant?”   
  
She blinked, and swallowed. “Sir, I was just - wondering if you needed any assistance?”   
  
“With _what_?”   
  
She gestured to the sensitive instruments in front of him. “I noticed you’d been – erm, taking a bit more time than you usually would, to –“ she broke off, uncomfortably.   
  
He bit down on a caustic dismissal, forced himself to consider her observation coolly. She was, after all, correct.   
  
He said carefully, “Are you aware of the methodology and parameters of this experiment?”   
  
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”   
  
“Then, perhaps, you would be so kind as to continue it for me?”   
  
“I’d be happy to, sir. I’ll send the results to your terminal when I’m done.”   
  
He took a steadying breath. “Thank you. Thank you, Lieutenant.”   
  
She smiled at him. “It's no problem at all, sir. If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know.”   
  
She was really quite lovely. How had he not noticed before? He felt a sudden, unexpected desire to raise his hand and touch her cheek. He squashed the impulse in alarm, and rose.  
  
“That will be all, Lieutenant, thank you.” She nodded, and took his place at the station.   
  
*   
  
As the lab doors closed behind her superior officer, Carla Raines glanced after him with a small sigh. For moment there, it had almost felt like – but that was foolishness. A product of her over-worked and under-romanced brain. Not that she was looking for romance. She had a career to build, and papers to publish, but still, if Commander Spock ever showed any interest, she might make an exception. He had far and away the best mind she’d ever worked with, and all that intelligence and quiet strength wrapped up in that reserved, Vulcan exterior, was quite the irresistible combination. She imagined there would be a great deal going on beneath that unruffled surface, if only anyone was allowed to see it.   
  
She smiled at her own fancies in amusement, as she continued his work. It would never happen. Still, a girl could dream.   
  
*   
  
Outside sickbay, Spock hesitated. He did not wish to trigger more interest in his unique physiology than Doctor McCoy had yet shown, but – he required assistance, and the Doctor had been quite clear that any aberrations from the norm, any at all, should be reported to him. But –   
  
The doors to sickbay opened, and Chapel exited, walking quickly, and had barrelled straight into him before he had a chance to move. He caught her before she lost her balance, and she gripped his arms in turn, as she gasped, “Oh, Mister Spock, I’m sorry, I was rushing to meet -”   
  
Through her touch, he felt unshielded embarrassment, then affection, _attraction_ – he thrust her away from him, and released her abruptly. She had stopped speaking and was looking at him with concern. “Mister Spock – are you quite alright?”   
  
He said roughly, “Excuse me, Nurse. I must speak to Doctor McCoy.” He walked past her into sickbay.   
  
*   
  
Chapel walked slowly away from sickbay. She’d almost been tempted to stay, and find out what was going on with their first officer, but she was already late to meet Nyota. As the turbolift doors swished shut, she hoped that whatever was wrong with him wasn’t serious, and reassured herself that if she was needed, McCoy would call her. And that, whatever was wrong, Leonard McCoy would find a way to deal with it. He really was an excellent physician. Feeling better, she stepped out of the lift, and headed to the rec room. As she arrived, the thought suddenly occurred that Spock was Vulcan. And once, many years ago, she had taught herself to make a Vulcan dish. Had been complimented on it, as it happened. She smiled to herself. Well, if Spock continued to be under the weather, then maybe a small reminder of home would help.   
  
From across the room, Nyota hailed her, “Chris!”   
  
She waved, and went to join her friend.   
  
*   
  
McCoy stared disapprovingly at the readouts before him. “Well, you’re right. Your temperature’s up. That trembling is adrenaline, which your body seems to be producing unnecessarily. Not in huge amounts, mind you, but enough to keep you on edge. Has this ever happened before?”   
  
Spock was sitting, stiff and unmoving, on the edge of the biobed, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the entire galaxy right now. He said icily, “It has not.”   
  
“Huh. Okay. I’ll need to run some more tests tomorrow morning, so come back before your shift. In the meantime, I’m not signing you off duty, since you’d probably just work in your quarters anyway, but take it easy, alright? Just your assigned shifts, no overtime, no landing parties, and I want you back here after every shift so we can keep a track of those adrenaline levels.”   
  
There was no response. He said, “Spock, okay?”   
  
“Yes, Doctor.” Without any further interaction, he slid from the biobed, and walked out of sickbay.   
  
McCoy watched him go with a frown, then turned, went back into his office, sat down, pulled up Spock’s medical records, and began to read.   
  
*   
  
_Ship’s time 20.10 __  
_  
Spock sat at the desk in his quarters. His attempt to meditate had not proved fruitful. Now his concentration was not proving up to task of simply reading reports from the heads of the Enterprise’s various departments. He flicked through them impatiently. They were not up to standard. He had been far too patient with his human colleague’s tendencies to stray from the subjects requested.   
  
He was too hot. “Computer, reduce temperature in here, three degrees.” There was a chime of acknowledgement.  
  
He turned back to his reports. He hadn’t managed one paragraph before his door chime sounded. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Was there no peace to be found on this ship? He ignored it.   
  
Without invitation, the door opened anyway, and he looked up in disbelief.   
  
His Captain was hovering in the doorway. As the door opened, he stepped inside and caught Spock’s eye with an enquiring smile. “No chess tonight?”   
  
Spock’s eyes flew to the chronometer. He had lost track of time. He stammered, “My apologies, Captain, I was preoccupied with – I am somewhat behind -”   
  
Kirk waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re busy, we can play any time.” He came over to the desk. “What’s keeping you away from trying to make up for the frankly _embarrassing_ trouncing you suffered last time?” He caught his first officer’s eye with a grin, then rounded the desk to read over Spock’s shoulder.   
  
Spock took a breath to reply as his Captain leaned forward to read, then Kirk’s hand landed on his shoulder. The effect was immediate, and shocking. The heat that had been shimmering through his system ignited like wildfire, and he barely contained a gasp. The heat seemed to solidify, and strengthen, until it was no longer simply warmth, but - _desire_. Powerful, focused, and frightening in its intensity.  
  
Two opposing impulses fought for control. One, to push his Captain away from him, as hard and as far as he could. The other: to rise, to pull Jim closer, to – he cut off that train of thought with effort.   
  
Kirk was saying with amusement, “I do understand Scotty’s annoyance with the engineers who did the last nacelle refit, but at some point, he’s just going to have to let it go.”   
  
Spock said, in as normal a tone as he could manage, without looking around. “Captain, if you do not mind, I should like to work undisturbed.” He was painfully aware of the strain in his voice.   
  
Kirk glanced at him in surprise, then straightened. “Oh. Right. Yes, of course.” He removed his hand. Spock clamped down on the desperate noise that threatened to escape. Kirk rounded the desk again, looking back at his first officer with concern. “Spock, are you okay? You look a bit flushed and you feel – “ he hesitated then looked at his hand in confusion before looking back to Spock in concern “- warm.”   
  
“I am well, Captain.” His voice was closer to normal. That was better. Kirk, however, looked unconvinced. Inspiration struck, and he added, “I have been undertaking a complex meditative practice around the regulation of my physiological responses.” Beneath the desk, he clenched and unclenched his fist convulsively.   
  
Kirk’s face cleared slightly. “Ah, right. Well in that case, I’ll leave you to it.” He looked at Spock’s desk. “Send anything on to me that you need to. Don’t work too hard.”   
  
“I will not.” _Please leave._ “I may be - less available than usual for activities outside of my duties.”   
  
There was a brief flash of disappointment across Kirk’s face, but he caught himself and nodded. “Take all the time you need. Next time you fancy chess, just say the word.”   
  
“I shall.”   
  
“Right. I’ll, er, I’ll see you on the bridge tomorrow then.”   
  
“Goodnight, Captain.”   
  
“G’night, Spock.” After another curious glance back, Kirk turned, and left. As the doors closed behind him, Spock released the gasp he had been holding, and gripped the edge of his desk in rising panic. That had been – that had been – he had wanted to – had _needed_ to -   
  
He had been attracted to people before. Not, it seemed with the frequency of his human colleagues, but it had happened. But those stirrings of attraction, of desire, had been as nothing next to the fire that had threatened to engulf him at the mere touch of Jim’s hand.   
  
It had been all consuming. Possessive. _Terrifying_.   
  
He stood, and moved to the bed, sinking on to it unsteadily. _What is wrong with me?_ McCoy had missed something, that much was clear. He must attempt his own diagnosis. He lay back, breathed steadily, and tried to clear his mind. Elevated hormone levels. Adrenaline production increased. A temperature high enough to be a fever – a _fever_.  
  
Slow, horrible realisation dawned, and with it, a stultifying, creeping dread. This was – his time. This was - _pon farr_. It had finally happened. At the worst possible time. He would lose control, he would be a danger to his friends, and without the completion of a bond, without the release of the physical drives – he would die.   
  
He would have to return to Vulcan. He would have to – he would _need_ to – consummate his marriage to T’Pring. Their bond would be deepened to the connection of true mates. It should have been a relief. He would finally be, in the eyes of his wife, a true Vulcan. And yet – he did not feel relieved. He felt – trapped. Alone. And afraid.   
  
*   
  
His bridge shift the next day was nothing short of a living hell. He had not slept, and he had never before realized how consistently noisy humans were. Uhura seemed to speak almost constantly: to her team, to address the ship, to other ships, to the Captain. Sulu and the new navigator, whose name he had already forgotten, were engaged in almost permanent quiet conversation as Sulu talked him through the vagaries of the helm and navigation console.   
  
The bridge was too hot. He had always thought of it as cold in the past, but now even the instruments beneath his trembling fingers seemed warm.   
  
And Jim.   
  
Jim, who knew nothing of the desires coursing through him, continued to be – friendly, continued to stand too close, continued to touch him. After two hours, he could stand it no longer. He waited for Jim to be deep in conversation with Scotty, then left the bridge, without dismissal.   
  
He returned to his quarters. He would work from here. He could no longer be around his crewmates. And he could not be anywhere _near_ Jim. The impulse to touch, to hold, to possess, was growing stronger with every hour that passed, and exposure to Jim’s presence only made it worse.   
  
This was – wrong. Surely his thoughts, his desire, should all be directed towards T’Pring?   
  
_T’Pring_. He should – contact her. Inform her of the situation. Perhaps she would already know. Perhaps - she would be pleased.   
  
Somehow, he did not think so.   
  
*   
  
McCoy frowned at the chrono. He was quite sure he remembered telling Spock to come to sickbay before his shift. But alpha shift had started two hours ago, and still no Spock.   
He thumbed the computer link on his desk. “Computer, locate Commander Spock.”   
  
The pleasant female voice informed him neutrally that Commander Spock was in his quarters. He reached for the comm switch, then changed his mind. He grabbed a tricorder, and headed for the door.   
  
* 

_He was on the bridge. The lighting was adjusted to ship’s night, so this was - gamma shift. Or delta. The temperature was blessedly cool, and the bridge was – miraculously – quiet. He looked around, and the reason for the silence became clear. The bridge was deserted. Except for - _

_“Spock.”_

_He turned. Jim was leaning against the console beside the science station, smiling at him. He was out of uniform, and seemed more relaxed than Spock had ever seen him on the bridge. He was in a form fitting non-regulation shirt, and trousers that skimmed lightly over the physique beneath. He was barefoot. _

_His smile was close to the one he used when he had just made a particularly frustrating move in one of their chess games – challenging, confident, daring Spock to do his worst in reply. _

_He said, hesitantly, “Captain?” _

_Jim drew slowly closer, stopping within mere inches of Spock’s position at the science station._   
_“Mister Spock.” The smile widened. His gaze roamed freely across his science officer's slim form. Spock could feel the warmth of that stare on his skin. He had never been so acutely aware of being observed. “I don’t think that you’ve been completely honest with me.” _

_Spock could feel the heat of his body across the narrow strip of air that separated them. When he breathed to speak, the air was scented with Jim. He could feel the fever increasing, trying to strip his control, trying to force a response. _

_He said, his voice uneven, “In what way do you believe I have been – dishonest?” He held the console in front of him to circumvent the desire to touch. _

_“I think,” Jim's roving gaze finally reached his face, “that you’d like to take liberties, Mister Spock.” He voice had dropped to a lower timbre than he usually used, and the sound made Spock grip the console so hard that it began to strain beneath his fingers._   
_Jim’s hand reached down to where Spock’s was braced against the console, and he slid his first two fingers over Spock’s, entwining them together. Spock drew in his breath on a hiss. “I think you’d like to forget I’m your Captain – that you’d like to forget rank entirely._

_“I think,” he drew nearer still, closing the gap between them, and whispered, breath hot on Spock’s ear, “you’d like to have me.” _

_Spock was reaching for him before his conscious mind could intervene, but Jim was already moving, and he was fast. He stepped back, clear out of reach, still smiling, although there was something reckless in it now. It was the smile of a man happy to tease the tiger, and unafraid of the response._

_Spock tracked his every move, watching as he stepped lightly from the outer level of the bridge, to the command chair. But he didn’t sit, merely leaned against it. The thin material of his shirt was doing absolutely nothing to conceal the outline of muscle beneath. _

_He continued, “But I’m not that easy to have.” He was running his hand over the arm of the chair, back and forth, a light, telling rhythm, but his eyes never left his first officer. “If you want me, you’ll just have to - take me.” _

_He met Spock’s heated gaze, his face a challenge, and an invitation. Spock felt the ungovernable desire of the fever stripping his control, burning his blood and forcing all thoughts of rank, of propriety, from his mind. There was only need: a wild, fierce desire, with one all consuming focus. _

_In one quick movement, he vaulted the low barrier that separated the science station from the lower bridge, and slammed his captain back against the command chair. He pressed them flush together, getting every inch of contact he could. Jim let out a rush of air that quickly became a fevered sigh as Spock moved against him, and lowered his face to Jim’s throat, scenting and tasting what he had long desired to touch. _

_Jim was not slow to respond. He wound his arms around Spock in turn, running them down his back to grip and pull them together - so close that Spock could feel an answering hardness against his own._

_The physical sensation – Jim’s heat, Jim’s skin, Jim’s desire - was beyond bliss, but he needed – he gasped out, “I must – Jim, I must have your mind.” _

_In reply, there was a low, breathy rumble that could almost have been a laugh. “I was hoping you’d say that.” _

_He drew back the merest fraction, just enough to move a hand towards Jim’s face. In his turn, Jim slipped a hand between them and began to strip away the rapidly dampening fabric._

There was a chime from the door.

_As Jim’s searching hand finally slipped inside his briefs and made contact with his hardening, heated skin, Spock could not contain the gasping moan that escaped him, or the reflexive movement of his hips against that exploring touch. _ _Jim murmured, low and heated, “That’s it, love, let go for me.”_

_As Jim’s hand closed more firmly around his length and began to move, his hands, which had found their position, almost slipped from the meld points as he gasped brokenly, “Ah - Jim -” _

The chime came again. It was followed by McCoy’s voice. 

“Spock!” 

He awoke with a start. And stared around him in confusion. He was in his quarters. He had – lain down, to try and meditate. And he his body had taken the opportunity to catch up on the sleep it hadn’t had the night before, whilst his mind had taken the opportunity to - 

“_Spock_, goddammit -”   
  
He was drenched in sweat, and tangled in his sheet. He threw it aside and moved quickly to the quarter’s small fresher, as McCoy’s voice said, “Computer, door lock override, authorization, McCoy, Leonard H., Chief Medical Officer."  
  
*   
  
The door to Spock’s quarters opened obediently as the override activated, and McCoy stepped inside, tricorder at the ready. He’d never actually been in Spock’s quarters before, and it felt like a liberty, but then Spock had never missed a scheduled medical appointment either, so that felt like more than sufficient cause. He stared around him in dismay. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this level of – disarray – hadn't been it.   
  
He said, again, in concern, “Spock? It’s McCoy. You missed your -”   
  
The door to the small bathroom opened, and McCoy turned in relief, “There you are, I brought - “   
  
Then he saw Spock’s face. And the words died. The Vulcan was – _furious_. Something in McCoy’s hindbrain told him that he’d just wandered into the lion’s den, and now would be a good time to leave again. But Spock was his patient, and -   
  
“_Am I entitled to no privacy on this ship?_” He had never, in all their acquaintance, heard that tone in Spock’s voice.  
  
McCoy swallowed. “Of course, you -” It was as far as he got.   
  
And damn, but Spock was fast. Before McCoy could even flinch, he had crossed the room, seized the Doctor by the throat, and slammed him back against the wall beside the door. “_You will cease to pry into my personal matters, Doctor, or I shall certainly break your neck._” He tightened his grip, and the ease with which that threat could be carried out was apparent to them both.   
  
Leonard McCoy had been called many things in his time, but never coward. He met his friend’s fevered gaze calmly, and drawled slowly, “Well, you could, but I’d be no use to you then.”   
  
Spock’s grip broke so abruptly he almost fell in place. “Get out.”   
  
With what dignity he could muster, McCoy walked out, and went straight back to sickbay, pulling up the scan he’d managed to get before Spock threw him out. It wasn’t the detail he needed, but it was enough. He hit the comm switch on his desk.

“Computer, locate Captain Kirk.”   
  
* 

_USS Enterprise, next day  
  
_McCoy sounded the chime at Spock’s quarters and waited for the summons to enter. He walked in to find the Vulcan slumped at his desk. As McCoy entered, he sat up straight, and assumed a neutral expression, replacing the pained, anxious look that had been there moments before. It was the first time he’d visibly seen Spock adopting his veneer of Vulcan neutrality, and he felt a pang of sympathy for his friend.   
  
He forced a smile, and said aloud, “Hey Spock, quick house call, just need a few readings. I won’t keep you long.”   
  
Spock said quietly, “Please proceed, Doctor.”   
  
He began the scan, and frowned at his tricorder. “Spock, I still don’t like these adrenaline levels.”   
  
This was met with a dry, “Neither do I, Doctor.”   
  
He gave Spock a sympathetic grin, heartened by the attempt at humour. “Yeah, it’s probably worse where you’re sitting.”   
  
“Indeed.” This was said with some feeling.   
  
“Are you sleeping?”   
  
“No.”   
  
He sighed, said, “Spock, I could give you something. It won’t stop the buildup, but it’ll depress some of the associated symptoms. Let you sleep, at least.”   
  
Spock didn’t meet his concerned gaze, but he drew a sharp breath, and said, “That would be – thank you. Thank you, Doctor.”   
  
He felt the cool press of a hypo against his neck, and heard the quiet hiss as the compound entered his system. McCoy said, “You should feel a difference almost straight away. If you need another dose, let me know.”   
  
As the hypo left his neck, it was replaced with a slight pressure on his shoulder, as McCoy gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand and stepping away.   
“Anything else you need?”   
  
Spock thought, fatalistically,_ A cure for pon farr._ Aloud he said, “No, thank you, Doctor.”   
  
McCoy sighed. “I wish there was more I could do. But getting information out of the VMI is like – well, blood from a stone would be easier.”  
  
Spock glanced up at his friend. He looked – unhappy. He said quietly, “You are already doing more than I could have hoped. Your efforts, and your discretion, are very much appreciated.”  
  
McCoy swallowed. “Hang in there, Spock.” He gave his friend a forced smile. “We’ll get you to Vulcan.”  
  
Spock look away, said, hesitantly, “Doctor, I – I wished to apologize for -”   
  
McCoy cut him off. “Spock, as far as difficult patients go, you don’t even crack the top ten. Hell, the top fifty.” The Vulcan looked unconvinced, so he added, “And when I had a taste of the kind of stress your system is under right now, I managed to erase three hundred years of history, the entire ship, and traumatize Jim. I mean, next to me, you’re not even really trying here.”   
  
Spock blinked in confusion, and then, for a brief moment, McCoy thought he might see him smile. Then the moment was gone. He said gently, “Spock, you look exhausted. Try and sleep before that hypo wears off.” For a second, he thought Spock would fight the issue, but instead he simply rose as instructed and crossed to the bed, sitting on the end of it as if too tired to recall its function.   
  
The door chime sounded. Spock froze, then called, “Enter.”   
  
Both men looked across as the door opened to admit their Captain.   
  
He saw McCoy, and stopped, halfway into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you need me to -?” He gestured back the way he’d come.   
  
McCoy said, before Spock could speak, “No, we’re done. Just reminding Spock here to take it easy between now and Vulcan. No work. At all.” He shot the Vulcan a severe look.   
Kirk crossed to them, standing next to McCoy, and nodded agreement. “Yes, absolutely, there’s nothing the senior staff and I can’t handle.” He was looking Spock over anxiously. Spock was looking at the floor. Kirk looked a hopeful question at McCoy, who shook his head.   
  
“Right, I’ve got other lucky patients to see, so I can’t let you monopolize my time all day.” McCoy crossed to the door. As he reached it, he looked back to Spock. “If you need anything at all, you know where I am.” He nodded to Kirk, added, “And don’t stay long, he needs to sleep.” Then left.   
  
*   
  
Spock didn’t need to look up to know that Kirk hadn’t moved. His awareness of Jim’s physical presence was like an airbound sonar he couldn’t turn off.   
  
Kirk said, “How are you doing?”   
  
He steeled himself, and looked up. “I am – as well as can be expected.”   
  
“So - not good then.”   
  
“I believe I have – felt better.”   
  
Kirk gave him a fond smile. “Yeah, I believe you have too.” He nodded to the space on the bed next to Spock, “Do you mind if I - “   
  
He had opened his mouth to reflexively refuse when he realized that he was not, for the first time in days, actively troubled by Jim’s presence. Whatever McCoy had given him appeared to be – at least temporarily - working. He said, honestly, “I do not.”   
  
Kirk looked pleased and Spock realized, with a pang of guilt, that he had been avoiding and openly rejecting Jim’s company for days, for the first time in their acquaintance. And that Jim had noticed.   
  
He crossed, and sat down, closer than Spock had intended, and his left arm rested lightly against Spock’s right. Spock braced for the flare of discomfort, the heat, the fever, that Jim’s proximity had been generating of late, but it did not come. In fact, the small area of contact between them seemed to act as a kind of lightning rod, drawing away some of the heat, and the worst excesses of the fever that had begun to torment his nights. Without any conscious intervention, he leaned closer to the source of that blessed relief. Jim glanced at him with that small, pleased smile, and intentionally shifted position slightly, so that some of his friend’s weight was resting against his side.   
  
It was taking every ounce of discipline Spock possessed to stop from lowering his head to Jim’s shoulder, but he had no idea how long this respite would last, or how long his friend’s forbearance would hold out with this unsought contact, and had no wish to ruin it.   
  
Kirk said quietly, “Spock, you’ve been – incredibly open with me, and I appreciate that. I really do. And there’s no reason at all for you to tell me anything else, so if you want to tell me to mind my own business at this point, I won’t take that askance."   
  
Spock made an odd noise, somewhere between a sigh and a huff of laughter, and the sound made Jim smile again, as Spock said, “Truly, there is very little else to tell.”   
  
“Fair enough.” Kirk caught his eye, and smiled, then looked away before adding, “I just, er, I was wondering - I take it there’s - someone waiting for you?” He was taking an interest in a Vulcan statue on a nearby shelf.   
  
Spock said, somewhat confused, “I am off duty, by Doctor’s orders.”   
  
“Oh. No, I meant – on Vulcan. For the – ceremony. You talked about a wife, a partner, someone like that?”   
  
There was a long silence. Then, “Yes.”   
  
“Okay. Well, that’s great. I bet they must be – really something.”   
  
Spock could not force himself to speak. Nothing would pass the sudden, severe constriction in his throat. T’Pring was, indeed, something. She was well respected, highly intelligent, extremely competent, from one of Vulcan’s oldest families, and almost unbelievably beautiful. His parents had chosen well. He was very lucky. As they sat there, Jim a blessed weight at his side, he realized, decades too late, that he would trade ten T’Prings, all the ancient ritual of Vulcan, and years of his life, for one, warm, golden, illogical, audacious, brilliant, foolhardy, unpredictable, astonishing human.   
  
Then it occurred to him, for the first time, that he did not know how long this would last. How long he would need to stay on Vulcan to be assured of survival. The Enterprise would need to leave immediately for Altair. He had not truly faced the possibility that he would not be aboard her when she did so. But the likelihood was – that he would not. And he had no idea when he would return. Or if he would return. Or even, how long he had before the Doctor’s hypospray wore off, and he was once again a danger to his friend.   
  
He said quietly, “Jim, would you like to play chess?” 

*  
  
_Place of Koon-ut-kal-if-fee, Vulcan, Stardate: 5025.93 (Terran Calendar: 22nd March 2267)_  
  
The place of challenge was far warmer than she had expected. Intellectually, T’sha’al was aware that the temple of Mount Seleya existed in its own microclimate, habitually a few degrees cooler than almost anywhere else on Vulcan, but actually feeling the effect of being away from it was something else. She felt sweat begin to form beneath the heavy ornamental necklace at her throat. Beside her, T’Rena shifted uncomfortably and she knew her sister was feeling the same thing.   
  
Still, they would not be outside for long. This was to be a brief, traditional ceremony. The betrothed couple would arrive, exchange vows and the ritual words, then, as the highest-ranking healer present in the absence of T’Lar, T’sha’al would ensure the longevity of their marriage by joining their minds in a more permanent and strengthened bond than the one they currently possessed, before they retired to a private place to consummate their union. 

Insofar as T’sha’al felt strongly about any aspect of her service at the temple, this was a role she allowed herself to contemplate with some anticipation. She would never marry, never know the closeness of a marital bond, so to join two compatible, willing, and joyful minds in an almost unbreakable bond of love was a personal satisfaction she allowed herself to relish.   
  
As they waited, she turned her mind towards the upright young woman at the edge of their group, currently talking in low tones to the man next to her. She had been introduced to T’sha’al as T’Pring, the future wife of S’chn T’gai Spock, and the young woman had looked her over disinterestedly before walking away to speak to the man currently beside her, to whom T’sha’al had been introduced almost as an afterthought. T’sha’al had lived at the temple since her extraordinary mental abilities had become apparent as a child, and she rarely ventured outside it. But when she did, as a senior healer of the temple, the reaction of others was almost always the same: curiosity, respect, and often a kind of awed regard bordering on reverence. It was not something she sought, nor expected: it was simply what was.   
  
T’Pring had evinced none of these reactions. Had, in fact, seemed almost hostile to T’sha’al’s presence. T’Rena, at her side, had stiffened in indignation at the slight. T’sha’al had touched her hand in placatory sympathy. _It does not matter_. T’Rena had satisfied herself with shooting the oblivious T’Pring an icy look as they waited.   
  
The longer she spent in T’Pring’s company, even with the distraction of the other minds around her, the more _something_ began to niggle at T’sha’al’s consciousness. Her ability to read people without a physical touch was uniquely strong amongst her people, and the reason her mental training had started so young. With a touch, she was able to read in far greater depth – she would never dream of attempting a healing without one – but something about T’Pring’s mental presence was calling itself to her attention even without physical contact. Normally, this was something she would ignore to avoid an invasion of privacy, but as the ceremony would naturally involve her touching T’Pring’s mind, she reached for the source of her mental discomfort. Sometimes an image allowed for improved focus. She touched her sister’s hand, began, _T’Rena, show me_ – then stopped.   
  
She felt the sudden arrival into their small group of a strong, rigidly disciplined female mind. T’Pau. The most senior member of Vulcan’s ruling High Council approached, and T’sha’al bowed her head in acknowledgement. The older woman’s severe tones said, ‘Healer T’sha’al. You honour us with your presence.’   
  
"It is my will to serve, Honoured Council Member T’Pau." Next to her, she felt T’Rena almost holding her breath in anxiety lest she be addressed.  
  
From the place of challenge, the ceremonial gong sounded. T’Pau called out to the bearers, the bells rang, and their procession began. T’sha’al walked forward carefully, grateful for her sister’s guiding hand. They walked behind the ceremonial guards, who were in turn behind T’Pau on her litter. She knew immediately when they entered the open space. The air changed, became even hotter, and the presence of three other minds called themselves to her attention. As they drew to a halt at the edge of the space, unobtrusively to one side, she focussed with professional interest on the strongest and most disrupted mental presence, undoubtedly the mind of S’chn T’gai Spock.   
  
Healer T’Lar had wondered if his human heritage would mean the fever of the plak tow would not seize him so strongly. Even from this remove, T’sha’al could tell that such was not the case. His mind burned as fiercely as any she had ever felt, and she mentally nodded to herself. T’Lar would be satisfied.   
  
Curiously, she turned to the other two minds present, and almost recoiled in surprise. There was no Vulcan discipline present, and very little in the way of psychic ability. Spock’s companions were – _human_. T’sha’al was familiar with humans - at the temple they often received applications from human scholars to study texts from their renowned library - but even so, she had only rarely met one. She touched T’Rena’s hand_. Sister, show me the companions of S’chn T’gai Spock._   
  
She felt T’Rena turn obediently at her side, and then an image filled her mind. The place of challenge, sand and rocks, the ceremonial gong in the centre, and across from their small group, three men in uniforms she did not recognise.   
  
_There are two humans with him,_ T’Rena’s mind supplied in surprise. _Members of their Starfleet.   
_  
Both were indisputably human. One was wearing the same blue coloured uniform as Spock, the other in gold. She had just turned her attention to the figure in gold when T’Rena’s surprise rippled through her mind like lightning.   
  
_Sister?_   
  
_T’sha’al - that is Leonard McCoy._ Her sister’s mental voice was impressed.   
  
She took a moment to recall. _The human healer whose work you have studied_.   
  
_He is an eminent doctor of their Starfleet. I frequently cite his xenobiology work in my research. It is highly detailed and meticulously notated. He has a most - interesting mind_.   
T’sha’al thought briefly that, for a renowned researcher like her sister, the human McCoy had just been paid the highest compliment she could bestow.   
  
In front of them, T’Pau had begun to address Spock’s party. T’Rena’s attention was now entirely absorbed by the human doctor, and she was listening intently to the conversation at the dais, lest he be given the opportunity to speak.   
  
Carefully, T’sha’al withdrew her awareness from her sister’s mind, and turned her attention back to the other in Spock’s party, calling up the brief mental image she had received of the gold human. Across the sands, a name came to her. _Kirk_. From Spock’s mind she easily supplied the rest: _James T. Jim. My Captain_. T’sha’al again felt a ripple of unease. Something was –   
  
‘Leonard McCoy, ma’am.’ T’sha’al’s train of thought was again derailed by her sister’s light touch to her hand and the accompanying surge of delight. _His voice, T’sha’al_.   
  
She made a mental note to speak to T'Rena regarding focus later, shielded her sister’s mind from hers, and turned her attention back to the human called Kirk. Even had the epithet Captain not been so strongly linked with him in Spock’s mind, his own natural authority would have informed her. He was chafing under the need to remain respectfully silent and uninvolved in their alien ceremony, and attempting to conceal, successfully to all but T’sha’al, an unusually high level of anxiety around his _bestfriendfirstofficer_\- the ripple of unease came again. T’sha’al frowned to herself.   
  
As Spock pledged the behaviour of his friends, and the ceremony continued, T’sha’al turned her attention back to Spock. His mind was sinking fast into the blood fever, but she had felt many such minds in her time at the temple. The fires of plak tow held no fears for an adept of her abilities. Keeping herself away from Spock’s conscious awareness –her official role in the ceremony would not come until the end - she moved rapidly past the fire to the depths of Spock’s unconscious mind, seeking that part of his mind that reached always for another. Long familiarity with this work made her quick, and a sudden burst of anxiety – _not mine. not his. who?_ \- made her faster.   
  
The presence of the woman T’Pring appeared in his mind. Their childhood bond flickered dimly in her careful mental presence. She examined it, setting aside an illogical sense of frustration that without touching one or both of them she could not see it with the clarity she desired. It was neglected, that much was certain. She did not need to see into T’Pring’s mind to know that this was not a cherished bond from either side. That was – disappointing. Still, she had no doubt in her own ability to -   
  
She stopped. There was – something else here. Something more fundamental than the childhood bond. Something that the fires of plak tow had brought closer to the surface. Something that had weakened the already unsteady bond with T’Pring. Breathing through her own curiosity, she removed her attention entirely from the world around her and brought all of her considerable mental powers to bear. It was – she reached further in fascination. In all her years at the temple, she had -   
  
T’Rena seized her wrist, jolting her from Spock’s mind.   
  
_Sister, **what**?   
_  
_She has challenged.  
_  
T’Rena gathered herself, breathing deeply to ground herself in her own body. In front of her, the human Kirk was speaking with T’Pau. She heard the voice of the human doctor again, and T’Rena’s hand tightened on her wrist.   
  
_T’sha’al._ T’Rena’s mental voice was concerned. _What will happen? _  
  
T’sha’al’s mental voice was firm._ The fires of plak tow must be extinguished. One way or another. You know this, T’Rena. If there is to be no consummation, there will be violence. It is the only alternative._   
  
‘I make my choice.' T’Pring’s voice sounded clearly across the sands. ‘– this one.’   
  
Even without the audible intake of breath from T’Rena, the stunned recoil through every mind in the space told T’sha’al that T’Pring had not chosen any of the Vulcans present.  
  
_It is one of the humans.   
_  
She sent to T’Rena, _Which of them?_ There was no reply. _Sister, which?   
_  
_Not Doctor McCoy. The gold one. Spock called him Kirk._   
  
Around her, the conversation continued. T’Pau had, rightly, given the human the opportunity to refuse.   
  
Then, to her shock, she heard Spock’s voice. "T’Pau -"  
  
"Thee speaks?"  
  
She mentally echoed T’Pau’s surprise. This deep in the blood fever, he should not be able to – she reached for his mind. The fever burnt as strongly as before. He was overcoming it by sheer force of will, driven by desperate concern for the human Kirk. In all her years at the temple, healing minds consumed by the fever, she had rarely encountered such a thing. It was – extraordinary.   
  
T’Pau’s voice came again. "It is said thy Vulcan blood is thin. Are thee Vulcan, or are thee human?"   
  
T’sha’al felt a flare of defensiveness on Spock’s behalf. The question was unfair. His ability to speak was driven by his will, not his humanity. The fever in his blood was entirely Vulcan. But it was not her place to speak. In fact, with T’Pring’s rejection of their childhood bond, she no longer had a role in this ceremony at all.   
  
She heard Spock’s plea, T’Pau’s refusal. Heard the voice of the human Kirk again. As the weapons were retrieved, she felt T’Rena’s hand on her arm, felt herself moved further away from the arena of combat. She heard the voice of the human doctor again.   
  
"You can’t do it, Jim."  
  
Their place of retreat for this private conversation had not accounted for the acuity of Vulcan hearing. Or the ability of T’Rena to position them in such a way that they could eavesdrop unobserved.   
  
_Sister, they seek privacy. Move us away from –_ T'Rena was not listening.   
  
She sent more forcefully, _T’Rena   
_  
_They don’t know_. T’Rena’s mental voice was anxious. Her sister abhorred violence in all forms and the turn the ceremony had taken had unsettled her. _T'sha'al, they don’t know. _  
She sent, with steady affection, _Calm yourself, pi’ko’kai. What do they not know?_   
  
_That one of them must die. _  
  
She turned towards the sound of their voices. Kirk’s voice was steady, but as a human, his mind was even more open that those of the Vulcans around her. He was not afraid, as she might have expected. His entire concern was for S’chen T’gai Spock. How to keep Spock safe was the driving force behind every utterance he made to the doctor at his side. She realised, with sudden shock, that T'Rena was correct. He did not know that the challenge was to the death. And he was planning to accept.   
  
She hesitated. It was not her place to say anything. Only T’Pau could officiate. But it was possible that this knowledge would reverse the human’s decision. She took a breath to speak.   
  
At the dais, the bells stopped. T’Pau’s voice rang through the space. "Kirk? Decide."   
  
His reply was certain. "I accept."  
  
Next to her, she felt T’Rena stiffen in distress. She took her sister’s hand in hers, projecting a calm acceptance that she did not feel. This was – wrong. She had never been present for a koon-ut-kal-I-fee but the examples she had studied were not encouraging. Men fighting each other to exhaustion, debilitating injury, death. It was the reason her work was so important.   
  
And that was the best outcome between two Vulcans. Kirk was human. He could not defeat a Vulcan under normal circumstances. With Spock in the grip of plak tow, what they were about to see was state sanctioned murder. As a healer, she could not -   
  
She felt the moment they realized like a physical blow. She expected protests, and the human doctor did not disappoint. "These men are friends. To force them to fight until one of them is killed -" At her side, she felt T’Rena’s approval of his intervention, but her attention was on the other, the golden captain. His reaction had been – strange. His initial protest had been an automatic response, but after T’Pau’s interjection, he made no further comment, merely stared across the sands to Spock.   
  
_Object_, she thought wildly. _You are human, you cannot be held to our laws. Object and save yourself.   
_  
But he did not. T’sha’al resisted the urge to reach for his thoughts. Spock and T’Pring had both given permission for a healer to examine their minds. He had not. His emotions, however, she could not avoid feeling. _He thinks he will die,_ she realised suddenly. _He thinks he will die, but accepts it. Why?_   
  
As the fight commenced, her mind was whirling. Everyone knew that the challenge existed but in reality, it was hardly ever used. Why had T’Pring done this? Their bond was supposed to draw them together. But it had not. Why had it failed? She thought again of Spock’s mind. Of what she thought she had sensed. The deeper part of him that reached, not for T’Pring, but for –   
  
The doctor’s desperate shout interrupted her thoughts. T’Pau’s voice rang out across the space. "Kroykah!" Beside her, T’Rena’s attention flew to McCoy.   
  
She thought again of the human Kirk’s reaction to the knowledge that Spock would kill him. If he had objected, the Vulcan Stonn would have been T’Pring’s second choice, that was apparent. The obvious reason for his lack of objection suggested itself. But that would imply – but it could not be. He was not Vulcan. Such a thing was unheard of. Had never been known. But if there was even a chance that she was right, then she could not allow this fight to continue. It would destroy two lives and violate every oath she had ever taken as a healer. She must speak.   
  
But to do so would violate the rules of the challenge, offend T’Pau, and if she was wrong, her place at the temple might be -   
  
T’Rena seized her wrist. _Sister, read Leonard McCoy. _  
  
_What? **Why**?   
_  
_He did something. He’s trying to save his friend.   
_  
T’sha’al hesitated for a moment. She should not. She did not have his permission, and such a thing was a violation of her code of ethics. Picking up on emotions, thoughts that they randomly projected she could hardly help, but deliberately touching their minds was another thing entirely.   
  
But - if the human doctor T’Rena admired had indeed found a way to prevent the death of James Kirk, then she would be spared the need to interfere and the potential end of her life’s work.   
  
She reached for the mind of Leonard McCoy. It was the lightest of touches, but McCoy’s mind was open, and his subterfuge very close to its surface.   
  
"Oh!" Over the sound of the fight, her voice did not carry.   
  
_T’sha’al! What is it?   
_  
_Your doctor is clever, little sister.   
_  
She felt a flash of embarrassment. _He is not mine, T’sha’al. What did he do?   
_  
_He gave his friend a neural paralyser. _  
  
She felt confusion, then delight from T’Rena. _Oh! He’s going to pretend that -   
_  
_I believe he is, yes.   
_  
_Oh, that is clever._ T’Rena’s voice was suffused with admiration and relief.   
  
T’sha’al thought with brief amusement that she had not imagined Leonard H. McCoy, Human, Xenobiology Specialist and Starfleet Doctor, could rise any higher in her sister’s estimation. In that, however, she had clearly been mistaken.   
  
They both waited. The sounds of the fight were fainter now, and the air in the clearing was tense. Then, abruptly, a dreadful silence fell. T'Pau’s voice rang out across the space.   
Then grief hit her like a physical blow and she staggered.   
  
_Sister! _  
  
_I am fine, T’Rena._   
  
She distantly heard McCoy’s voice, and her sister’s attention shifted back to the sands.   
  
T’sha’al took a steadying breath and scolded herself for her foolishness in not shielding. Of course, S’chen T’gai Spock did not know of the doctor’s deception. For him, the death was real. He had killed his friend. She hoped the deception would not be maintained long. His mind was strong, but he was overwrought and exhausted. She wondered how long he had been labouring under the strain of the approaching fever. The first pon farr was often harder than those that followed, due to the body’s first difficult time of adjustment to the strain about to be placed upon it.   
  
She understood him to be stationed on a ship of humans. Perhaps it would be appropriate to offer some kind of aid – his recovery from this ordeal would not be swift - she heard the sound of a transporter and knew from the quickly suppressed disappointment at her side that Doctor McCoy had gone. She heard footsteps drawing closer, and the voice of Spock, speaking to T’Pring. Ignoring their words, she reached out to each mind in turn.   
  
As she had expected, T’Pring’s mind was unaffected. The bond, ignored and unwanted as it had been, was gone, and its absence had, if anything, improved the outlook of the mind in which it had dwelled. She examined T’Pring’s mental landscape for any remnant of it, or any associated distress at its breaking, but found none. Satisfied that any future bond would be fully accepted, and healthy, she withdrew from the young woman’s mind, and turned to Spock.   
  
Instantly, the landscape was very different. His grief at the death of his friend, the roiling emotions of the fading fever, and his body’s exhaustion at the physical and hormonal demands laid upon it were beating against his impressive control, and threatening to tear it down. Gently, she took some of the worst of his grief, and veiled it from his conscious mind, reducing his immediate emotional distress. There was no need for him to suffer unnecessarily, not when his friend still lived.   
  
She heard T’Pau’s voice utter the traditional Vulcan greeting, and his broken reply. Resisting the urge to offer further emotional comfort, she returned quickly to the place in Spock’s mental landscape where his mind reached for another. The bond with T’Pring was broken, and dark. But the other, still seeking it’s completion, remained. Without touching him, she would know no further. She withdrew quickly, and touched T’Rena’s hand in time to see Spock’s figure disappear in a haze of gold light.   
  
T’Rena said, "T’sha’al?"  
  
Around them, the procession was leaving the place of challenge. She shook herself. "We should return to the temple, my sister."  
  
They walked slowly back the way they had come. T’Rena said quietly, "He was clever, wasn’t he? Doctor McCoy, I mean."  
  
Deep in thought, T’sha’al did not respond.   
  
T’Rena added wistfully, "I’m sorry they left so quickly. I would have liked to speak to him."  
  
T’sha’al thought of the broken bond in S’chan T’gai Spock’s mind. His distress, and the strange, incomplete bond that seemed to reach to his soul. She said thoughtfully, "We cannot know how the future will unfold, my sister."  
  
*   
  
_USS Enterprise, same day, ship's time: 18.30  
_  
"In a pig’s eye." Jim threw Bones a look, and put his hand to Spock’s back, hurrying him out of sickbay. "Come on, Spock, let’s go mind the store." He didn’t need to be Spock’s closest friend to see that his emotional control was still not all it could be, and he wanted to get Spock away from any kind of audience. He felt like they both had had enough of being watched for one day.   
  
He hustled Spock to the turbolift. As they walked, he could see Spock in his peripheral vision look to him, and look away, over and over, as if he couldn’t believe the reality of Jim's presence at his side. As the turbolift doors closed, he gripped the handle and said quietly, "Deck Five."  
  
Spock looked him in the eye for the first time since sickbay. He was paler than Jim had ever seen him, apart from a high spot of color in each cheek, and a fine trembling was apparent in his hands, which he was attempting to disguise by keeping them pressed to his sides. His breathing was shallow and his eyes wide, as he said, "I interpreted your comment to mean we would be going to the bridge, Captain."  
  
Kirk shook his head. "Spock, I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through the past week, but after today I want to know you’re fully recovered before your next bridge shift."  
  
Spock’s eyes dropped to the floor, and his shoulders seemed to slump slightly. Kirk said, "Spock, I’m not – this isn’t me questioning your competence. I know you’d be able to do your duty if we went to the bridge right now. But as your friend – I want you to rest. You need to rest."  
  
Spock’s gaze was still on the floor as he said, "Yes, Captain."  
  
Kirk took a breath and said awkwardly, "Okay."  
  
The turbolift began to slow. Spock said suddenly, "Jim. I -" his voice seemed to choke in his throat. He tried again, stammered, "Jim, I wanted to - " He stopped helplessly.   
  
Kirk raised a hand. "It’s okay, Spock. You don’t have to say anything."   
  
They made the rest of the trip in silence. Jim wondered whether he should contact Bones, ask him to drop in on Spock whilst he was on the bridge.   
  
As the door to Spock’s quarters opened, he said, "Listen, I need to go to the bridge. Will you be okay?"  
  
Spock said, in a detached tone, "I am fine, Captain. Thank you for your consideration, but please continue to the bridge." He was standing strangely still in the centre of the room as if waiting to be given further orders.   
  
Kirk looked at him. Spock was still wearing his uniform from Vulcan. There was dried blood (_Mine? Probably._) on the sleeve, specks across his front, and grains of sand embedded in the back. He said, "Okay. I’ll go. Spock - change your clothes. Relax. I’ll call in and see you after my shift."  
  
Spock said, not meeting his gaze, "It will not be necessary."  
  
"Well, maybe not, but – I'll call in anyway."  
  
There was no reply, so after a moment, he turned and headed for the bridge.   
  
As he entered the turbolift, he said, "Bridge." Then flicked the comm unit switch. "Kirk to McCoy."   
  
"Here, Jim. Is it Spock?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you need me?"  
  
"No, I’ve just left him in his quarters with orders to relax. But I think you should go and see him."  
  
"Now?"  
  
Kirk watched the lights slip by behind the panels in the turbolift. Spock had been – uncomfortable, but not – ill. "No, I’m just – concerned, that’s all."  
  
"He’ll be okay, Jim, but it’s going to take a bit of time for his system to normalise. That was a hell of thing he went through. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out of sorts for a few days yet."  
  
Kirk nodded. "Okay. I want him to rest for now, but I’d like you to take a look at him first thing tomorrow."  
  
"Already planning to."  
  
"Thanks, Bones."  
  
*  
  
As he stepped onto the bridge, Scotty turned, saw him, smiled in relief, and stood from the command chair. "It’s good to see you, sir."  
  
"Anything to report, Scotty?"   
  
"Command approved our diversion to Vulcan, sir."  
  
"I heard." He locked eyes with his third in command in relief. "Good news."  
  
Scotty grinned back, "Aye, sir. And we’re on our way to Altair VI as ordered. Should only be a day behind schedule."   
  
"Thank you, Mister Scott."  
  
The Scotsman nodded. "Anything else, sir?"  
  
Kirk laid a hand on the side of the command chair. He said, "No thank you, Scotty. You stand relieved." He sat down carefully, suddenly aware of some aches and pains that hadn’t existed that morning. Behind him, he heard the turbolift doors open and close.   
  
A few minutes went by.   
  
A yeoman handed him a padd, and he thanked her automatically, staring unseeing at the words in front of him. Absently, his hand drifted to his neck. Easy to forget how strong Vulcans were. In his mind’s eye, he saw Spock’s face, distorted in the blood fever, and drew a breath, forcing himself to concentrate on the padd. _If it wasn’t for Bones... _  
  
_It wasn’t Spock’s fault. I wanted it. I wanted to help, wanted him to live. _  
  
And now he was sitting here, reading an unimportant report whilst his friend was still suffering. Spock had been so pale, so unlike himself.   
  
He remembered Spock’s face in sickbay. That smile. That unadulterated relief and joy. For Jim. For finding Jim alive. He found himself smiling in turn. He had not doubted that Spock was fond of him, considered him a friend, but to have it confirmed in such a dramatic way, to have Spock smile at him, grip his arms in delight – he was almost certain Spock would have embraced him, had McCoy and Chapel not been there.   
  
Then he recalled Spock’s face in the turbolift, saw him standing lost in the middle of his quarters. Thought of McCoy saying that he wouldn’t be back to normal for a few days. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the command chair, then thumbed the switch for the comm."‘Captain Kirk to Chief Engineer Scott."  
  
"Scott here, sir."  
  
"Report to the bridge please, Mister Scott."   
  
Scotty's bemused voice came back, "Er – aye, sir."   
  
*   
  
Spock stood in the centre of his quarters. The room was too cold. The contrast with the heat of Vulcan was unpleasantly stark. There was sand in his uniform, and blood on his sleeve. His heartrate was too high. He could not control the trembling in his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his shallow breathing. The blood fever had passed. His joy at seeing Jim alive had passed. And in their wake was a terrifying black hole of sensation that threated to draw him in.   
  
He was not able to control his physical reactions. The trembling had begun to spread through his body. He tried to take deeper breaths, but the invisible vice around his chest would not allow the expansion of his lungs. He took a few shaky steps towards his bed – perhaps if he lay down – tried to meditate. He walked into the side of his desk, and pain shot through his leg. He stumbled, and slumped to the floor. The metal of the deck was cold, but at least he was no longer required to remain upright. He sat with his back to the room divider, and closed his eyes.   
  
Jim’s face swam into his vision. Gasping, distended, dying. He snapped open his eyes and stared at the grey floor. Forget. _Forget_. But how could he forget? He had killed his Captain. His best friend. The man who had trusted him. Promoted him. Risked his career and his life to keep him safe. Who smiled at him like he mattered. The man he – but that was over now. The fever had passed. And taken with it, surely, his friendship with Jim. For how could there be forgiveness for this?   
  
The hole in his chest seemed to expand.   
  
Jim did not want him on the bridge. Had not wanted to stay with him. And why would you keep the man who murdered you as your closest friend, your second in command? How could he be trusted? His breath caught in his throat as reality dawned. He would have to leave. Leave his home. Leave the Enterprise. Leave his friends. Leave – Jim. He would have no betrothed. No home to return to. A moan of despair broke from him, and he tugged his knees to his chest, lowered his head, and tried to focus on continuing to breathe.   
  
*  
  
Jim walked from the turbolift, debating his approach. He’d literally left Spock less than half an hour ago. This was going to look like checking up on him. And he’d seemed – sensitive to the idea that Jim didn’t trust him anymore. But Spock was his friend. Jim was allowed to be concerned about him, over and above his responsibilities as his commanding officer.   
  
He stopped outside Spock’s quarters and hit the door chime. Just a friend, checking on a friend. There was no response. He frowned, and hit the chime again. Maybe he’d gone to back to sickbay after all. "Computer, locate Commander Spock."  
  
The reply was immediate. "Commander Spock is in his quarters."  
  
Jim stared at the closed door. Dammit. He glanced down the empty corridor, said quickly, "Computer, command override: access to Commander Spock’s quarters. Authorisation, Captain James T. Kirk." The doors slid open and he stepped inside.   
  
For a moment, he couldn’t see Spock at all. Then he saw a broken figure huddled against the divider between the bedspace and the main quarters, and his heart leapt into his throat. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees. "Spock, you okay?"  
  
There was no response. He reached out to place his hands on Spock’s arms where they wrapped around his knees, and squeezed gently. "Spock, talk to me."  
  
Spock slowly raised his head and stared at Jim. He looked like a man being woken from a nightmare. He said, "You are - on the bridge."  
  
Jim made himself smile. "I was. Now I'm here again. You don’t get rid of me that easy. Look, I’m just going to call Bones, then -"  
  
"Please do not." Spock’s voice was unsteady. "You - were right. I simply – require rest."  
  
Kirk took a breath. "Okay. Well, let’s do that someplace other than the floor. Up you get, Mister."  
  
Spock stared around, seeming to realise his location. He made to stand, and Jim seized his arms, practically lifting him upright. He forced another smile. "That’s a start. Next thing. Uniform. Off. Do you have –" he looked around. Spock’s meditation robe was hanging next to his bed. Jim grabbed it. "This’ll do." He placed it into Spock’s hand, and guided him to the quarter’s small bathroom. "Right. Uniform off, robe on, back out here. Go." Being ordered around seemed to have at least temporarily brought Spock out of himself, as he went quickly and without complaint.   
  
Kirk crossed to the comm, and gave quick instruction to Rand. Whilst he waited, he stared at the bathroom door in concern. Spock was, at the least, in shock. And whatever else those Vulcan hormones were still doing to his system. He shouldn’t be left alone. And he didn’t want to see McCoy. And Jim couldn’t think of anyone else on board he would trust to look after Spock right now. Minutes ticked by.   
  
The quarters door chime sounded. He went to the door and took a tray from Rand. "Thank you, Yeoman." She nodded, and turned on her heel. He wasn’t that he didn’t still occasionally curse the headquarters genius that had assigned her, but goddamn she was efficient. He laid the tray down on the table. He’d said light food and drink, and she’d complied. There was fruit from Earth and Vulcan, and the exact drinks he’d requested.   
  
The bathroom door opened, and he turned. Spock was still pale, and worryingly unsteady, but he was at least out of uniform, and already looking a little more himself. He said, with an obvious effort to sound normal, "Captain, I -"  
  
Jim raised a hand. "Let me stop you there, Spock. I’m off duty, and so are you, until at least alpha shift tomorrow, so I don’t want to hear another ‘Captain’ out of you until then, clear?" Spock blinked at him. Jim said, "In fact - " he pulled his uniform tunic over his head, glad that Bones had insisted on giving him a regulation black t-shirt underneath, and threw it over the back of Spock’s desk chair. "There we go. No rank here. Right -" he extended a hand to Spock. "Come on."  
  
Spock walked towards the desk, but Jim said gently, "Not comfortable enough. Here." He led the unresisting Vulcan to the bed and sat him down, leaning him against the head of the bed with his legs stretched out, and fetched Rand’s selection of food, before sitting next to him, kicking his boots off, and leaning back against the head of the bed in imitation of Spock’s own posture. He put the food between them, and helped himself.   
  
Spock was staring at him. He nudged the food towards him. "Eat something, Spock. You haven’t eaten all day."  
  
Spock seemed to gather himself, "Jim, I am – well. You need not -"  
  
He gave his friend a half smile. "I know."  
  
He picked up a strange looking fruit. "Here. Have a -" he stopped. "Okay, what is this?"  
  
"Kasa fruit. I - did not know we had any on board."  
  
"Huh. Well apparently, we do now." He broke off a section.   
  
Spock began. "Jim -"  
  
Jim bit down. The initial sensation was quite pleasant, but ramped up quickly to molten fire. He coughed and grabbed for the water on the tray.   
  
Spock said flatly, "Humans find it quite – potent. It is – not popular outside Vulcan."  
  
Jim coughed, rasped, "I can’t think why. It’s lovely."  
  
He was gratified to see a small smile tug at Spock’s lips. He added, "Is there anything Vulcan but non-lethal on this plate?"  
  
Spock indicated a blue-black fruit. "Pla-savas. Humans generally find it quite palatable."  
  
Jim looked at it with suspicion. "Do you mean, in it’s own right, or in relief that it doesn’t taste like that kavas abomination?"  
  
That small smile was back. "I think you will like it, Jim."  
  
"Good enough for me." He took a large bite of the blue fruit, immediately relieved when the sensation in his mouth was mild, and sweet. He said round the fruit, "Oh nice."  
  
He shoved the plate towards Spock with a chastising expression. Spock took a grape, somewhat reluctantly. Jim finished his pla-savas. Watched as Spock ate another grape, then said, "You’re doing that wrong."  
  
Spock looked at him in surprise. Jim said, "Humans eat grapes like this." He tossed it in the air, and caught it in his mouth, chewing with a smile at Spock’s dumbfounded expression.   
  
"Jim, they do not."  
  
"Yeah, they do. You’re just scared you won’t be able to do it. I get it, it’s an art, you really need a misspent youth -"  
  
Spock took a grape from the bowl, flicked it upwards in a high arc and caught it easily in his mouth. Jim noted with satisfaction that the trembling in his hands had died down. And then wondered how in the hell Spock had managed to make that look elegant.   
  
He said, "Beginner’s luck. Let me see you do it again."  
  
Spock repeated the action, but this time, as his wrist moved, Jim nudged his arm. The grape ricocheted off the wall nearest the bed and hit Spock in the cheek.   
  
Jim said. "Told you. Beginner’s luck." Then laughed at Spock’s dumbfounded expression.   
  
*   
  
It was a dream. Jim, who should be dead. Was sitting next to him. On his bed. Eating fruit. Jim, who should hate him. Was laughing with him. And talking again. About the ship. About their crew. Intermittently, he would nudge the bowl, and Spock would eat. He wasn’t hungry. The food tasted of nothing. But it pleased Jim, so he did it.   
  
The lighting in his quarters was low, and tinged with the red of a typical Vulcan sun. In its glow, Jim’s hair looked as it had at the place of challenge - golden. After half an hour, they had eaten the fruit, and without breaking conversation, Jim hopped off the bed, returned the tray to the desk, and almost before Spock could grow concerned that he might not return, got back on the bed.   
  
He was saying, "And I know fleet command likes to show off their starships, but honestly, dragging us halfway across the galaxy to be window dressing, for crying out loud - ‘   
  
Without the bowl between them, Jim had sat closer than before. Spock could feel the warmth of him against his left arm. "Why the Reliant isn’t enough on her own, command only knows. She’s a great looking ship. I mean, she’s not the Enterprise -" He threw out an arm to indicate the walls around them, and Spock saw a bruise that McCoy had missed. On the underside of Jim’s arm: his own hand print, outlined in an ugly, painful, purpling smudge against his Captain’s skin.   
  
He felt his heartrate climb and his breathing become shallow. He closed his eyes against the sudden, wrenching hollowness in his chest. The room seemed to spin around him and reality was the vision in his head – Jim’s distended face, his eyes as the light faded from them.   
  
He tightened his hands on his thighs to stop a trembling that was threatening to overcome his whole body.   
  
Jim had stopped speaking but he couldn’t risk opening his eyes. He felt the bed dip as Jim moved. Leaving. _Leaving_. The single point of warmth at his arm disappeared. Only to be replaced by warmth along his entire side, as Jim shifted closer. There was a gentle touch on the back of his left hand, then the hand was carefully moved and encased in both of Jim’s.  
  
Spock’s shields, already compromised, could not now stop him feeling Jim’s presence. His respect, his regard, his affection, his concern, his anxiety, his – his _love_, for the man at his side. And nowhere was there any blame, any condemnation, any negative feeling at all towards his friend. Spock bowed his head against a rush of emotion that threatened to completely obliterate his slender control. A part of him wanted to snatch his hand away. Another part wanted to hold on, and never let go.   
  
After a moment, Jim said quietly, "It’s okay, Spock. It really is. We’ll be alright, you and me. We’ll get through this. Together. Like always."  
  
Spock didn’t trust himself to reply.   
  
They sat together as the lighting began to fade into ship’s evening. Spock felt tiredness begin to creep into his exhausted system. He felt it from Jim too, waited for him to move away. Instead Jim shuffled an inch or two down the bed until he could more comfortably lean against Spock.   
  
He said quietly, "When I was a kid, I was pretty competitive. Even with Sam. Especially with Sam, really. Always wanted to beat my older brother. I did too, a lot. I could never run faster than him though. He was built like a whippet back then. Except one time, I nearly did. We were sprinting, and we were neck and neck, and I thought, this is it, this time I'm going to beat him. I just wanted one win, you know? But right before we got to the line he started to pull away. So I shoved him. He fell. Really hard. Hit his head on a rock. He was so still. I could see his blood on the stone. In that moment, I thought I’d killed him." Jim drew a breath. "He was in hospital for week. Head injury. It took Kodos to beat that as worst day of my life."  
  
As he spoke, he was rubbing a thumb absently over the back of Spock’s hand. Jim’s quiet voice and that tiny friction were chasing away some of the darkness. Tiredness was beginning to possess his limbs. He still didn’t trust his voice, but wanted to convey some of his gratitude. He squeezed the hand that was holding his, then slowly, carefully leant his head until it rested against the top of Jim’s.   
  
The lighting began to fade into ship’s night.   
  
*   
  
Leonard McCoy was up early. He was generally not an early riser, but concern for Spock had him up and about earlier than usual. He wondered if it was too early for a home visit, then decided not. He’d just pop his head in on Spock, if he was asleep, fine, if not, then now was as good a time as any for that scan. He was starting to regret letting him walk out of sickbay yesterday. That goddam Vulcan/ human physiology could be up to any crazy thing with that kind of stress on it. He stopped outside Spock’s quarters and hit the chime. No response. So asleep. Or-. His physicians mind came up with a myriad of things that could be wrong with the Enterprise’s first officer. None of them good.   
  
He swore to himself, remembering the last time he'd done this, and said, "Computer: emergency medical override: access to Commander Spock’s quarters. Authorisation: McCoy, Leonard H, Chief Medical Officer."  
  
He strode in, apology all ready, and stopped. Spock was asleep. Peacefully too, which was better than expected. And surprising, given that he was still fully dressed in his meditation robe, and awkwardly half lying against Jim. Who was also asleep, leaning on Spock in turn, but slightly more comfortably stretched out, head nestled against Spock’s shoulder.   
  
As if sensing scrutiny, Jim stirred. McCoy took a moment to weigh up his options, then crept out the way he’d come. Question answered. Spock was fine. The scan could wait until later.   
  
He walked back to his quarters, deep in thought.   
  
*   
  
Kirk came to consciousness slowly, but two things called themselves to his awareness fairly quickly. One was that various parts of him were aching. Two, was that he was very pleasantly warm, and that the source of the heat was the other body he was comfortably nestled against. Part of his mind noted drowsily that it was still early and that this was an incredibly rare occurrence, so full advantage should be taken of the opportunity for lazy morning cuddling. He had just pressed his face further into the soft material under his cheek when it moved slightly and the rest of his mind came to awareness with the speed of someone frequently summoned out of bed by a red alert klaxon.   
  
He sat up abruptly. The movement woke the sleeping Vulcan next to him, and Spock began to blink blearily. Jim had in the past imagined, when he had given the matter any thought, that Spock would come to awareness almost instantly, fully aware and logical from the moment of waking, not a hair out of place.   
  
He'd been amused to discover that this was not even nearly the case. Spock rubbed his eyes tiredly, and ran a hand through his hair, which, far from being perfect, was tousled and too much over one side. He blinked confusedly at Jim. For all that Kirk was a little embarrassed to be watching his first officer wake up, he couldn’t resist smiling at him. Early morning Spock was – there was no other word for it – endearing.   
  
"Hey," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Spock sat up, and stared at him, as if confused as to his presence. Kirk saw the moment that the memory of the previous day, and the reason for Jim being in his room at ungodly o’clock in the morning, came back to him. Spock’s expression shuttered.   
  
Jim felt disappointment creep into his face. He made himself smile.   
  
Spock said carefully, "I am well. You – need not have stayed."  
  
Kirk gave him a half grin. "Didn’t consciously decide to. Just fell asleep. Long day yesterday."  
  
If possible, Spock’s expression closed down even further, and Jim cursed himself.   
  
He looked away, said, "McCoy’ll be looking for you this morning, so probably best to go to sickbay first thing, get it out of the way."  
  
"I shall do so, Captain."  
  
"Right. Good."  
  
Kirk stood. "I’ll, er –" he gestured vaguely in the direction of his own quarters. He pulled his boots on, walked to the door, and stopped. "Come to the bridge later if McCoy gives you the okay."  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
Jim nodded, and left.   
  
*   
  
Spock sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the closed door. The roiling emotions and frightening fire of the fever had almost dissipated, and the deathly void that had seized him last night had faded in the warmth of Jim’s presence. He had slept well. Sanity and logic were once more in control.   
  
He had – killed Jim. Only McCoy’s quick thinking had rendered it a false death. And Jim had – sat with him. All evening. Slept at his side. Held his hand. And from that last he knew that Jim did not hate him. Did not even resent him. The affection that he had felt in brief, wonderful snatches before remained entirely intact. It was a miracle that he did not wish to question. But there could be no risk of a repeat.   
  
The desire for Jim that had tortured him prior to their arrival at Vulcan had faded. He had to believe that it was a symptom of the fever. Chose to believe that it would not arise again. But without a bondmate, if he continued to serve with his Captain, it was – logical – to believe that it could happen again.   
  
He knew that he would serve under James Kirk for as long as he was allowed. And if this had not dented Kirk’s faith in him, it seemed that there was little that would. So it was up to Spock to ensure that it was impossible for these circumstances to reoccur. He could not risk Jim’s friendship, his regard, or his life, again. It must be prevented.   
  
As a child, he had heard of a path of mind training. Complete dedication to the teachings of Surak. Pure logic, without emotion. The adepts no longer underwent the fires of pon farr. If he was to continue serving in Starfleet, he must consider Kolinhar.   
  
*   
  
Spock didn’t come to the bridge. A quick enquiry to Bones elicited the news that he had insisted on Spock’s taking the day to further recover. Whilst Kirk approved the idea, Spock’s absence made his shift drag by as he tried not to worry about his friend. He found himself unable to banish the subject from his mind. He sat in the command chair, staring at the screen, wondering what he could have done differently, better. How could he have made this easier on Spock? What would have happened if they were further from Vulcan?   
  
He couldn’t have allowed Spock to die. Perhaps Spock would never have permitted it, but could someone else have acted in place of T’Pring? From what Spock had said, he thought not. The bond was – somehow important. But surely - if death was the only alternative? He’d seen how some of the crew looked at his first officer. He knew Spock didn’t notice, but if word had got out, he didn’t think he’d have been short of volunteers. There was even a woman in Spock’s own science team who looked a little like T’Pring. Unbidden, his mind supplied a vivid image. Lieutenant Carla Raines in the arms of his first officer.   
  
Kirk felt something ugly unfurl in his gut. That could never have happened. It was – unacceptable. And this line of speculation was pointless. By the time Spock’s next pon farr came, their mission would be over. It was not something his Captain would ever need to concern himself with again.   
  
The thought should have been a relief.   
  
* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay?! If you really hated having the actual events of the episode told from the POV of an OC, I'm sorry. If you really hated her, let me know, because some later chapters will need some rewriting.....
> 
> Up next: more fall out from Vulcan, which will be up fairly soon, just as soon as I edit. Then there's going to have to be a bit of a hiatus whilst I catch up on some RL stuff, sorry! :(


	12. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More scenes set after Amok Time.
> 
> Not gonna lie, I had an absolutely horrible attack of writer's paranoia after posting the last chapter, and took it down again, but if I keep doing that we'll never get these two together! I was also panicking slightly because no-one was commenting. Turns out AO3 was having some email issues, so I'm choosing to believe it's that!
> 
> Also: this chapter contains what is probably my favourite line of dialogue I've ever written. I love McCoy.

_USS Enterprise, One week later. Stardate: 5086 (Terran Calendar: 30th March 2267)_

Kirk watched his first officer over the chess board. It had taken him a week to persuade Spock to spend any time with him outside their shifts together. He understood it. After the intensity of their experiences on Vulcan, and the evening that had followed, Spock had retreated into his Vulcan shell. Kirk had respected it, but had not stopped asking for his company in the evenings. It had been more of a relief than he had expected when Spock had finally accepted. 

The game proceeded slowly as they made careful talk about the ship, and their crew. He realised quite quickly, and with surprise, that he was going to win, and the thought made him look to Spock in concern. He’d rarely won a game against Spock in so few moves. He thought back over the week that had passed. Spock had been an excellent officer. By anyone else’s standards. By Spock standards though, he had merely been – adequate. It was hardly something Kirk could complain about as his Captain. But as his friend - 

He said gently, “Spock, is - is everything okay?” 

Spock looked to him across the board. Something haunted crossed his face before he caught himself. 

“In what sense, Captain?” 

“Spock, I'm not your Captain right now.” 

“You are always my Captain, Jim.” 

Kirk couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the sheer sincerity in his tone. “Okay, but right now, I’m speaking as your friend. Your Captain, as ever, is happy with your performance. But your friend has noticed that you’ve been a bit – off your game. And he’s worried about you.” 

Spock looked down at the board between them. When he looked up, his face was neutral, and Kirk experienced a moment of trepidation that Spock was about to brush him off, pretend everything was fine. 

Then he said slowly, “I - have been experiencing some – symptoms. Headaches, difficulty concentrating. My sleep has been – interrupted.” 

Kirk said quietly, “Since Vulcan?” 

“Yes.” He did not add – _ other than the night I slept with you _. 

Jim said slowly, “Is this something that usually happens – after? Will things get better on their own, or do we need to speak to McCoy?” 

“I - I do not know.” 

* 

“Hey Jim.” McCoy nodded to his Captain, then turned back to the examination table, and patted Ensign Hodges on the shoulder. “Right, you're done. Next time you're feeling adventurous in a Jeffries tube, try not to break anything, 'kay?” 

The Ensign flushed and glanced at his Captain before muttering something affirmatory and almost running from sickbay. 

Kirk looked after him. “Anything I need to know about?” 

McCoy grinned. “Definitely not.” 

He waved Kirk into his office, waited for the door to close, then said, “Don't tell me, this is about Spock.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

McCoy looked at him before saying flatly, “Must be that weird Vulcan mind voodoo rubbing off on me.” 

He pulled open the cabinet near his desk and retrieved a bottle. “That was my last customer. Care to join me?” 

“Well, I'm off shift, so why not?” Kirk sat. 

McCoy poured them both a drink. 'The bad news is, you're right. Spock's still not himself. The good news is, it's not going to kill him this time.” 

Kirk looked at him in mild irritation. “That's hardly the bar we're aiming for here.” 

“Seems like it lately.” McCoy sighed. “Honestly Jim, I think what Spock wants more than anything right now is to pretend that none of this ever happened. So, anything that's not actually going to kill him, he's happy to ignore.” 

Kirk nodded. “Yeah, that's my impression too.” Since that morning in Spock's quarters, the Vulcan had been the consummate professional. That night, and the day before it, had never been referred to again. “But let's assume that what I want is my first officer operating at peak efficiency. How do we achieve that?” 

McCoy shook his head. “What Spock needs, he can't get here.” 

Kirk stared at him in disbelief. “_P__lease_ tell me I'm not about to have to ask the bridge to lay in a course for Vulcan. Chekhov might mutiny.” 

McCoy snorted. “Even if I thought you should, I think Spock would object. He was horrified at the mere suggestion. Doesn't fit in with his 'pretending it never happened' strategy.” 

“Bones, what does he need?” 

“A healer. A Vulcan one. A specialist in sorting out bonds. Look Jim, I'm in uncharted waters here, but near as I can tell, Spock's symptoms are due to the fact that his bond with T'Pring - broke. And obviously that wasn't to happen. It was supposed to get – I don’t know - reinforced, I suppose. Stronger.” 

He took a sip, and continued. “Now, like I say, it's not fatal. Apparently, the bond wasn't strong enough before the break for any significant damage to be caused by the breaking. But it is - bothering him. The fact that he actually came to talk to me about it should tell you that.” 

“So where do we go to get a healer?” 

“I asked M'Benga. He said there are healers stationed in places other than Vulcan. So I checked. None near here.” 

Kirk rolled his eyes. 'Of course not.' 

“But then I thought, they're doctors, right? And Spock implied that this would be a pretty routine fix for a Vulcan Healer. So I thought- we could ask for a house call.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows, “A _ house call_?” 

“Why not? They are doctors. You go where you're needed.” 

Kirk blew out a breath, “It's worth a try. I don't want to have to put in another call to Komack about diverting the ship. He's still gutted he didn't get to court martial me last time.” 

“Thought you'd say that. So I've already put a call in to the Vulcan Medical Institute. I'm waiting for someone to call me back.” 

“Great. Thanks, Bones. Do you need me to call anyone? Hurry things along?” 

McCoy raised an eyebrow at him. “Spock’s dead friend Kirk calling for a chat? Don't worry Jim, I'll handle it.” 

Kirk smiled. “Oh yeah. I forgot. Well, let me know as soon as you hear from them.” 

* 

Less than twenty-four hours later, Leonard McCoy was summoned back to his office by Chapel. 

“Call from the bridge for you, Doctor.” 

He sat at his desk. “McCoy here.” 

Uhura's voice said, “I've got a call from the Vulcan Council Chambers for you, Doctor. Shall I route it down there?” 

McCoy frowned. He'd been expecting the Vulcan Medical Institute. “Er - yes, Uhura. Thank you.” 

His desk screen lightened, then the image of a severe elderly Vulcan woman appeared. 

McCoy swallowed reflexively. “Uh - this is an unexpected honour, Ma'am.” 

T'Pau's face was stern. She said, without preamble, “I was informed of thy request, Leonard McCoy.” 

“Yes Ma'am.” More seemed to be required, so he added, “Commander Spock has been experiencing symptoms in relation to the breaking of his marital bond.” 

T'Pau nodded briefly. “Not wholly unexpected.” She added archly, “And as a human doctor this is a problem with which thee naturally cannot assist.” 

McCoy said evenly, “No, Ma'am. My skills don't extend to Vulcan bonds.” 

T'Pau said icily, “But they do, apparently, extend to raising the dead.” 

She looked steadily at him and McCoy found his brain had suddenly absented the conversation. He wanted to sink into his chair. She continued, “I am informed that _ Kirk _is not only alive, but currently in command of thy ship.” 

McCoy swallowed reflexively. “I - er, I may have been a little hasty in my diagnosis of - er, death. Ma'am.” 

T'Pau stared at him for an unsettlingly long moment. Then to McCoy's intense relief, she continued abruptly, “I will contact the Temple. Thee may expect to hear from them shortly.” 

McCoy began, 'Thank you, Ma -' but the screen was already blank. 

* 

T'sha'al lay quietly in the silence and relative isolation of her room under the eaves of the temple’s east wing. As much as she was aware of the importance of her work, there were days when it was simply mentally and physically exhausting. 

The need for rest was appreciated by all those who worked with her, so she was surprised to hear footsteps echoing along the corridor outside. 

There was no chance they would pass. This corridor gave access only to T'sha'al's rooms or the temple’s ancient roof space. Their isolated nature was quite deliberate. The other healers had rooms closer to the heart of the temple, and that was where T'sha'al spent most of her daily life. But the nature of her gifts meant that, when she was tired, the mental noise of others could be extremely wearing, and difficult to shield. So in the interests of her recovery time, and the privacy of others, she stayed in her rooms when the day had proved tiring. 

The footsteps drew nearer her door. She knew already the identity of her visitor, and stood politely as the knock came. 

“Please enter, Healer T'Lar.” 

The older woman opened the door, and T'sah'al relaxed slightly. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t bad. T'Lar had been her mentor since her very first day at the Temple, more than thirty years before and over the years they had grown naturally close. T'sha'al could read her mental state better than anyone, save her sister. 

“I apologise for disturbing your rest, T'sha'al.” 

She inclined her head. “You would not have done so without a good reason.” 

T'Lar nodded. “I have received a request from the Vulcan Council. A Federation starship has asked that a healer attend one of their personnel.” T'Lar’s voice took on a _slightly_ disapproving tone. “We have been asked to acquiesce to their request. I am aware that you do not usually leave the temple, but your presence was specifically requested on this occasion.” 

T'sha'al felt a tiny frisson of fear touch her heart. Not only to leave her home, but to leave _Vulcan_. She had never even travelled outside of the province of her birth. 

T'Lar said, “Your sister, or a companion of your choice, may accompany you.” 

T'sha'al said quietly, “The healing required is to the mind of - S'chn T'gai Spock?” 

“Yes.” There was a pause, then T'Lar added, “You were present at the koon'ut'kal-i'fee.” 

“Yes. The mind of his former betrothed suffered no ill effects. His situation was – more complicated.” 

T'Lar said, “Due to his hybrid nature?” 

T'sha'al said with certainty, “No. I believe the complications to have been entirely Vulcan in origin.” 

She sensed T'Lar's curiosity, but the older woman was too much the professional to question further. Instead she said, “So I may inform T'Pau that you will attend?” 

T'sha'al said, “The request came from Council Leader T'Pau?” 

“Yes.” T'Lar added quickly, “But do not allow that to influence your decision.” 

T'sha'al suppressed a brief flash of mild amusement. T'Lar and T'Pau were both of noble families, and had grown up together. At some point during their shared history, a quiet, unspoken rivalry had formed which lasted to the present day. T'sha'al had no doubt at all that T'Lar would refuse on her behalf without hesitation. 

But that would not help S’chn T'gai Spock. And it would not satisfy her own curiosity as to what she had glimpsed in his mind. 

She said firmly, “It is my honour to serve.” 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5124.9 (Terran Calendar: 5th April 2267)_

By the time McCoy arrived in the transporter room, Kirk was already there. “Where’s Spock?” 

“He’s on his way. Something time-sensitive in the lab.” 

McCoy said dryly, “You’d almost think he wasn’t looking forward to this.” 

Kirk cut him a glare. 

McCoy snorted. “He’s not the only one. I’ve met Vulcan healers. They’re all old, wizened, superior –“ 

Kirk said chastisingly, “Bones.” 

McCoy huffed to silence, then added, “Well, suffice to say, I’m really looking forward to a day of the superiority of Vulcans and the inadequacy of human medicine being shoved down my throat.” 

Kirk patted him on the back. “Hang in there, Doctor. Remember, it’s for Spock.” 

McCoy said ruefully, “For Spock,” as the door opened and the ship’s first officer entered. 

“I apologise for my tardiness, Captain.” 

“No need, Spock, they’re not here yet.” 

Behind him, the transporter tech said, “Getting the signal now, Captain.” 

“Beam them aboard, Lieutenant.” 

He straightened, and beside him, McCoy and Spock did likewise. They had discussed earlier whether it was necessary to wear dress uniforms, but Spock had indicated it would not be expected. 

The transporter beam faded into two forms in traditional Vulcan robes, light coloured, with delicate Vulcan script in gold down each side. Two women, neither old, nor wizened. One short and dark haired, the other slightly taller, lighter haired, and holding the hand of the first woman in a vice-like grip. She was, McCoy realised in sudden shock, entirely blind. 

Spock stepped forward. “Dif-tor heh smusma, Hakausu T’Sha’al, T’Rena. Welcome to the Starship Enterprise. Your presence honours us.” 

The shorter woman glanced at the woman at her side, then turned to Spock. Her voice was quiet, but lyrical and clear. “Sochya eh dif, S’chn T’gai Spock. Thank you for your welcome. We come to serve. I am T’Rena. This is my sister, honoured Healer T’sha’al.” 

“This is the Captain of the Enterprise, James Kirk, and our Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Leonard McCoy.” 

McCoy watched her dark eyes slip disinterestedly over his Captain, and land on him. For one absurd moment he thought she was about to smile and he blinked in surprise. She was, in a severe Vulcan way, quite striking. Then she looked down, quickly glanced at her sister, and said, “My sister is fatigued from the journey, may we rest?” 

Kirk said immediately, “Of course, we have assigned quarters for you. Spock, would you –“ 

His first officer said, “Please come this way, Healer T’sha’al, T’Rena.” 

T’Rena guided her sister from the platform, and they followed closely behind Spock. 

As the doors closed behind them, Kirk caught his CMO's arm, said, “Bones, they were at the ceremony. On Vulcan.” 

McCoy looked after them in surprise, “Were they?” 

“You didn’t notice?” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Jim, bit preoccupied trying to keep you both alive.” 

Kirk said interestedly, “Do you know her? T’Rena?” 

“No, should I?” 

“No, I just – never mind. Let’s catch up with Spock.” He was out of the room before McCoy could respond. 

* 

T’sha’al gripped T’Rena’s arm as they moved through the ship. The necessity to shield strongly from the undisciplined human minds they passed meant that the only feedback she had from her surroundings was auditory. And the sounds were strange. The air was stale, and cold. It was – disconcerting in the extreme. 

They stopped, and her hand brushed the sleeve at her other side. S’chn T’gai Spock. His mind was nothing like she recalled from Vulcan. Even a surface reading showed that logic and reason once more held sway. But her presence was causing a – level of anxiety, carefully hidden. It would be kindest to reassure him quickly. 

They entered a different space, and T’Rena said quietly. “Your cabin, T’sha’al.” 

“Thank you.” She turned to the small group. “I would speak with Commander Spock. T'Rena, you need not stay.” 

Captain Kirk said, with automatic politeness, “Ma’am, I could arrange a tour of the ship?” 

T’sha’al felt a surge of excitement, quickly suppressed, but T’Rena said loyally, “Thank you Captain Kirk, but I will remain with my sister.” 

“My sister does not often get the opportunity to travel off world.'’ T’sha’al addressed the place she knew Kirk to be standing. “If it is not a great inconvenience to you, Captain, she would appreciate the opportunity to familiarise herself with such a fine vessel as the _ Enterprise_.” 

T’Rena said, chastisingly, “T’sha’al, you are fatigued.” 

“And you are leaving me in the excellent care of Commander Spock. Captain, if you would -?” 

She sensed Kirk’s mood lift slightly, but he was still uncertain. “It would be my pleasure, Ma’am.” His voice changed. “Spock, are you sure you’ll be alright if we-“ 

“Of course, Captain. I will remain with Healer T’sha’al.” 

The voice of Doctor McCoy said, in concern, “Spock, do you want me to stay?” 

“That will not be necessary, Doctor.” 

As the door closed behind them, and she was left alone with only one, disciplined, Vulcan mind, T’sha’al almost slumped in relief. The other minds were still there, in uncomfortably close proximity, but without the physical immediacy she could more easily shield herself from them. 

“Healer T’sha’al, do you require rest?” Spock’s voice was politely concerned. 

“Yes, Commander, but your presence is not fatiguing. In fact, you can assist me.” She held out a hand and he took it. His confusion was clear across her mind. 

She said, “With your permission, Commander, I will take an image from your mind. Please observe the room.” 

As instructed, he looked away from her, into the room. In her mind, a clear imaged formed. A room, of a not dissimilar size to her rooms at the temple, but grayer, and plainer, without a window. She memorised the layout, and dropped his hand, murmured, “Thank you, Commander,” then walked across to the small table and sat down. 

She sensed him watching her with interest. Some of his anxiety at her arrival had begun to be replaced by curiosity. 

She said lightly, “Since birth. One cannot miss what one has never known.” 

“Forgive my curiosity.” He came towards the table. 

She said warmly, “You only thought it. It was presumptuous of me to answer what you did not voice. Please sit.” 

She heard his movement as he obeyed. She waited he stilled, hands resting in her lap, then said, “You have nothing to fear from me, Spock. You must know that your bond with your former betrothed was not strong. The manner of its breaking caused some lingering trauma to your mind, but it can be remedied. All will be well.” 

He said formally, “Thank you, Healer T’sha’al.” 

She said, “If you would like to maintain formality, then Healer is fine. I would also have no objections if you simply wished to call me T’sha’al. May I call you Spock?” 

“You may.” He hesitated for a moment. “T’sha’al.” 

She smiled at him, and his surprise almost made her laugh. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. For obvious reasons, I was not able to spend hours in front of a mirror as a child, policing my expressions for signs of emotionality. I am therefore somewhat - freer than I should be.” 

“It is not – discomforting. I was merely surprised.” 

“Again, I was presumptuous. I hoped, living amongst humans, that you would not find it discomforting. I am pleased that such is the case.” She took a breath. “Are you ready to begin, or would you like time to meditate first?” 

He took a breath, then said, “I have no objections to commencing immediately, if you are sure you do not require rest.” 

“I am well, thank you, Spock. My sister is occasionally somewhat – over protective.” 

He leaned forward, and she did likewise. Placing her fingers against his temples, she felt him mentally brace as she murmured the ritual words. 

_ Relax, Spock, this will not be a trial for you. _She projected her own calm into his still anxious mind. 

_ My apologies, _ _ T’sha’al _ _ . _

_ No need. There is some fear behind your anxiety, Spock. _ She asked gently, _ In what is it rooted? _

_ I did not enjoy the experience of melding as a child. _Behind the bald statement, she caught flashes of memory – fear of exposure. Fear that every touch would expose his emotional, human, heart to these cold, emotionless adults. 

_ You need not fear it now. May I? _ At his hesitant agreement, she drew the worst of the fear from those memories, reassured the child with the adult’s certainty. _ No Vulcan should fear the meld, Spock, it can be a truly transformative and enriching experience, with a willing and open mind. _

She felt the truth of her words sink in as she moved carefully past his conscious awareness to the source of his current symptoms. As she had expected the bond had ripped, not broken cleanly. She sent, _ Spock, as expected, the bond is not deep. I can remove all that remains, now, and heal the wound, if that is your wish. _

_ That is my wish, _ _ T’sha’al__. _

_ Very well. You should not be able to feel much at all as I proceed, but if that changes, please tell me. _

_ I shall. May I assist in some way? _

She paused. That was not a question she was usually asked. She sent, _ If you were to occupy your conscious mind, perhaps with a meditation, it would ensure that I am not disturbed by any stray thoughts. _

_ I shall do so. _

_ Thank you. _

She felt his mind slip with impressive speed into a meditative trance. She began to carefully and gently remove the last vestiges of the bond with T’Pring, and heal the area around. As she worked, she gradually became aware of the other _ something _in Spock’s mind. The thing that had called her attention on the sands of Vulcan. It was not as strong now as it had been then. Something had called to it during Spock’s time, and it had responded. However, she was closer to it now, and its nature was more readily apparent. She resisted the urge to turn to it immediately, but slowly, meticulously, continued her work. Only when she was sure that Spock’s mind was healed, and free to accept any future bond without restraint or injury, did she turn back to that insistent mental glow. 

In her mind’s eye, it took the form of a ribbon of gold. It stretched away from her, seeking a completion she could not see. The part of it in Spock’s mind split out like infinitely fine but incredibly strong golden thread. The more she looked, the more there seemed to be, its fine golden filaments reaching into every part of his being – mind, body, and soul. It was not like any bond she had ever seen, but it was a bond, of that she was certain. She had never seen one herself, they were so rare, but she had heard of such a thing, in accounts from healers deceased. 

Carefully, she withdrew from Spock’s mind, touching his consciousness lightly as she passed. _ It is complete. _

She felt his surprise with some amusement as she sat back. 

“T’sha’al - you have finished?” 

“Yes.” 

“There is no further healing required?” 

“Do you feel as if there is?” 

She waited whilst he examined his own mind. He said, “I - I do not.” 

“I would concur. The bond was weak. Your mind is strong. It was not difficult to allow it regain its former balance.” 

“Thank you, T’sha’al.” 

“You are welcome, Spock.” 

She waited as he struggled to overcome his natural unwillingness to discuss his most private thoughts with a stranger. After a moment, he said, “T’sha’al, may I ask a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“I do not have a basis for comparison, but I - never felt my bond with T’Pring was especially strong. Nevertheless, I was given to understand it would bring us together at the appropriate time. That we would be drawn to each other. That this would happen naturally. It did not.” He swallowed, then continued. “I wish to know what to expect of a future bond. I accept that my hybrid nature may mean that I am never able to form a true bond, but this obviously invites the conclusion that I will never be able to create a bond strong enough to draw myself and my bondmate together, as happened with T’Pring. She desired another, and I – did not desire her.” 

T’sha’al listened in silence. As he spoke, she felt his Vulcan reticence at speaking of such things crying out for him to stop, even as his concern, his fear that he would never know a true bond, drove him to speak. As he finished, she realised that he had already convinced himself that his assumptions were correct, and had braced for her agreement of the truly desolate state he had outlined. 

She took a breath, and considered her response. It could be difficult to convince someone of the truth when their mind was already made up. 

She said gently, “Spock, are you aware that I was present for your koon-ut-kal-I-fee?” 

He stiffened slightly, “I - was not. I was informed that a healer would be present but I – “ 

She waved a hand. “There is no reason for you to have known. My role in the ceremony was not required, and you were deep in the blood fever for most of the time.” 

She felt a sharp embarrassment begin to take root between them. She said quickly, “Spock, what do you know of my work at the temple?” 

He said uncertainly, “I was informed that you were pre-eminent amongst the healers of the temple, second only to Healer T’Lar.” 

“That is so, but do you know what I do?”’ 

“I assumed – such as you have done today.” 

“Indeed. I specialise in marital bonds. I particularly work with healing minds that have suffered from bonds which were broken before their time. But I am also fortunate in that my particular skillset allows me to deal most effectively with those minds that are the worst affected by the breaking: those that are in the grip of the blood fever.” 

She knew without being able to see him that Spock was staring at her in surprise. 

She continued, “I tell you this so that you will understand my familiarity with the effects of pon farr, my level of expertise in dealing with life-bonds, and therefore the amount of credence you should give the statements I am about to make.” 

He said hurriedly, “T’sha’al, I did not mean to imply –“ 

“You did not, Spock, but you have a particular pattern of thought that would lead you to doubt the accuracy of my statements, and so I am establishing clearly in advance that such doubt would be illogical.” 

“To what pattern of thought do you refer?” 

“Your belief that any difference between you, and what you believe to be Vulcan normality, is the result of the fact that you are half human. It is – somewhat ingrained.” 

He was staring at her again. She felt his anxiety, and confusion. 

She continued gently, “I can, however, understand where this belief has arisen. It has also been the assumption of those with whom you have interacted.” She added dryly, “Up to, and including, Council Leader T'Pau.” 

He said, with hesitancy, and she could feel his determination to allow none of the profound emotions associated with this topic to become apparent in his voice. “It has frequently been the case.” 

“Spock,” she said mildly, “I cannot speak to your experiences in all areas of life, but I know that your experience of the blood fever was an entirely typical Vulcan one, in both impact and intensity.” 

She let him absorb this, then added, “The differences lay only in the events themselves- the challenge and the combat.” 

She felt some pain begin to creep into his mental landscape. She said gently, “You must be aware that your experience was – highly untypical. And distressing. You must not allow it to – colour your expectations of the pon farr in future.” 

He said unsteadily, “But if any future bonds are also not strong –“ 

She shook her head. “I believe there were three reasons why your bond with T'Pring was not sufficient to draw you together at the appointed time. First, your minds were not highly compatible. This would not have been an issue – such things can be overcome – were it not for existence of the other two reasons. 

“Second, - and I imply no criticism of your former betrothed when I say this - her mind was, and is, not naturally predisposed to the formation of strong marital bonds. There is nothing unusual in that, but it rendered her even less suitable as a match for a mind such as yours, where the drive to do so is strong.” 

After a moment, he said, “Then you believe that in future it may be possible for me to form a bond - with another - which would lead to a more traditional experience of the blood fever.” 

“I am certain of it, Spock.” 

She felt the relief of this, and listened to his breathing grow steadier. 

After a moment, he said, “You referred to three reasons why my bond with T'Pring was not strong.” 

“Yes.” She took a moment to marshall her thoughts. He misinterpreted her hesitation as reluctance to impart painful information and said, “It is to do with my hybrid nature?” 

T'sha'al said, with dry fondness, “I refer to my earlier comment around your tendency to assume that.” 

She took a breath. “Spock, the third reason is so fundamentally Vulcan in nature, it does not occur in any other species we have yet encountered. Even amongst our kind, it is rare. 

“Your bond with T'Pring was weakened during your time not because your mind did not seek it’s mate, but precisely because it did. There is another potential bond in your mind, and it’s completion was sought as a priority, and to the neglect of your bond with T'Pring.” 

For the first time in their conversation, she felt some doubt in her infallibility begin to suggest itself to his mind. He said, “T'sha'al, I understood that it is - not possible for two marital bonds to exist in one mind at once.” 

She nodded. “That is true in all circumstances but one. Spock – you have a T'hy'la.” 

* 

T’Rena listened respectfully as Captain Kirk walked and talked them - in what seemed like almost unnecessary detail - through an area of the ship he had described as main engineering. She had a very limited knowledge of starship design and function, and although it was interesting to finally have the opportunity to tour one, instead of confining herself to guest quarters, she sensed that her lack of expertise and enthusiasm was beginning to tell. She was experiencing a mild level of anxiety that a life confined almost entirely to research in the Temple’s library had not adequately prepared her for prolonged social interaction with two humans whose daily life was to travel the galaxy, meet with new species and see new worlds. And to her disappointment, although he had accompanied them, Leonard McCoy had not spoken a great deal during the tour, leaving Captain Kirk to essay what was almost an uninterrupted monologue about the apparent excellence of this ship, and field her occasional polite questions. 

As they came to a halt in the middle of the space, Kirk was hailed by a man in a red uniform with an indecipherable accent. He murmured his excuses and crossed the room, leaving T’Rena with Leonard McCoy. She had been hoping an opportunity to speak to him about his latest published paper would present itself, but now they were temporarily alone, her mind was failing to supply her with so much as the title. As the seconds ticked by, she stood, ostensibly relaxed and mildly interested in her surroundings, whilst casting around desperately for something to say. 

Fortunately, Doctor McCoy was not so afflicted. In that lilting accent she was beginning to very much enjoy hearing, he said lightly, “Are you, er, a keen student of starship design, Ma’am?” 

She glanced quickly at him, concerned lest her feeling of being out of her depth had been quite so obvious. He looked back at her, and his eyes were amused. She realised, with a little thrill, that not only had he noticed, he had not deemed this a defect on her part, and was in fact attempting to use it as a social bonding experience, in sympathising with her plight. She thought, _how delightfully human of him_, and said quickly, lowering her voice to indicate that she was happy to participate in this experience, “I am not. I fear my lack of expertise in this area may have been apparent to Captain Kirk.” 

He said, with a smile that made her immediately delighted she had been so quick to recognise a human social cue, “Ma’am, the man who built this ship has less expertise in this area than Captain Kirk.” He lowered his voice to match hers. “Between you and me, Jim Kirk is something of a starship nerd.” 

T’Rena felt a rush of subdued glee at this continuation of their shared social bonding experience. An appropriate riposte occurred to her, one that would demonstrate not only her familiarity with his work, but also her ability to adroitly handle human social interaction. She said, mentally congratulating herself on successfully navigating a potential minefield of responses, “It would appear so, but I would add that someone who has published no less than three papers on comparative alien physiology as it applies to Andorian-Human and Human-Andorian physiological differences, specialising in surgical approaches, could also be considered – a nerd.” 

Maintaining a look of absolute innocent neutrality, she turned back to him, hoping to see that smile again, but immediately feared she had mis-stepped. He wasn’t smiling at all, but staring at her in genuine disbelief. She opened her mouth to – say something, to soften, or recall the remark – after all she had just called one of her chosen field’s most respected physicians a nerd _to his face_ – when Kirk returned. 

“I’m sorry about that, shall we move on?” 

As they passed out of the double doors back into the corridor, T’Rena felt her level of anxiety increase and tried to think of a reason to once again address McCoy – perhaps an apology would be appropriate? _ Is nerd a very offensive term to humans? _ The equivalent word in Vulcan was used mainly by the young, it was true, but was still a badge of honor. As she was formulating the words, Kirk said, “And that’s our tour. Can I show you to your quarters? They will be next to those of Healer T’sha’al.” 

T’Rena blinked at him, only long years of Vulcan training stopping the disappointment from showing on her face. “The tour is complete?” 

Kirk said in surprise, “Well, usually, yes, unless there’s anywhere else you’d like to see?” 

T’Rena risked a glance at Doctor McCoy, who didn’t look immediately thrilled at the prospect of prolonging this particular experience_. _She said slowly, “No, that’s fine, thank you, Captain. I shall wait in my quarters for my sister to conclude the healing.” 

Kirk looked at her a little oddly, glanced to McCoy, then said, “Are you sure? It’s no problem if there’s somewhere else you’d like to see. I mean, obviously the weapons systems are off limits, but - “ 

T’Rena said hastily, before her logical sense could assert itself ahead of her voice, “Sickbay.” 

Kirk blinked. “Sickbay? You want to see – _ sickbay_?” 

McCoy spared him a glance, and a dry, “Not everyone is into engines, Jim.” 

She nodded, “Only if it would be no trouble -” she glanced a little anxiously to Leonard McCoy. “I would not like to intrude, I’m sure you are very busy -” 

She had half expected him to look irritated – humans wore their emotions so freely, but instead he seemed – pleased. 

Kirk said, also looking to McCoy, “Well, it’s not really my area. Doctor?” 

McCoy caught her eye, and for the second time since she’d set eyes on him, smiled. “It would be my honour, Ma’am.” Then, to her barely concealed consternation, offered her his arm. A number of things occurred to T’Rena simultaneously. One, it was unlikely he was unaware that Vulcans were touch telepaths, and that it was therefore considered impolite to invite touch in such a way. Therefore, this was an automatic gesture of _human_ politeness, that would likely be withdrawn imminently, particularly when Doctor McCoy became aware of the warning look that had just appeared abruptly on his Captain’s face. Two, she was finding almost everything this man said or did, illogically charming, and there were no other Vulcans in proximity to disapprove, so there could really be no harm in accepting the gesture in the spirit it was intended. Entirely in the interests of maintaining good human/vulcan relations whilst aboard a human vessel, obviously. 

Before Kirk could speak, and her more logical mind could intervene, she took the proffered arm. “Thank you, Doctor McCoy.” 

* 

James Kirk watched his CMO and guest depart down the corridor. Neither of them seemed to notice he wasn’t accompanying them. He glanced back the way they’d come. He needed to check in on the bridge. He wondered how Spock was getting on. This healer, even on very brief investigation, had seemed highly thought of, which was particularly impressive when the people doing the thinking were Vulcans. Nevertheless, he wished she’d hurry up. He wanted his first officer back. Wanted chess games, and banter, and not the strained atmosphere they’d been living in since before Vulcan. He missed his friend. 

He worried the skin between his eyes. _Normality_, he thought tiredly_, that’s what I want. Just one Vulcan on board. Everything like it used to be, bef_ore. He hoped this woman was everything her reputation suggested. 

_ Just give me Spock back. _ _ Please. _

* 

The room had fallen silent. She waited. 

After a long moment, he said, shaken, “T’sha’al, that is – mere legend. From the time before Surak.” 

“It has become a legend amongst our people, Spock, but the legend is based on truth. When I was a young adept, there were elders at the Temple who had encountered such a bond. I touched the mind of one. It allowed me to recognise yours.” 

He began, “But – I cannot- if this is so - how would such a thing go unnoticed?” 

She said simply, “The bond is rare. To my knowledge, I am one of only three healers on Vulcan who would recognise it. And even to me, it’s presence would not have been obvious, but for it’s attempts to reach beyond your mind for that of its mate. And it was strengthened by the onset of your pon farr. Indeed, it is entirely possible that your time was triggered by exposure to the mind of your T'hy'la.” 

She added quickly, “But that is merely speculation on my part.” 

She heard him stand, begin to pace the room. 

“Spock, this distresses you. Why?” 

“I – have no wish to return to Vulcan.” 

She frowned. “Why would you return to Vulcan?” 

She felt him turn to her in desperation. “Because if what you say is true, and I have – this, then my bondmate is on Vulcan. Any other bonds I might form would be – purely secondary, is that not so?” 

“Yes, but that does not negate them, and Spock,’” T'sha'al said with certainty, “your T'hy'la is not on Vulcan.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

T'sha'al gave a huff of almost laughter. “Because if they were, you would never have left. You would not have been _ able _ to leave, not during your time.” 

Even without her sight, she knew he was staring at her in consternation. 

She said gently, “Spock, is there no-one to whom you are – drawn? Someone in whose presence you feel comfortable? Without knowing why? Perhaps even - illogically?” 

She felt the moment that realisation landed. His rejection of it was almost a physical recoil. He said, harshly, “That is - not possible. He is not _Vulcan_.” 

T'sha'al raised her eyebrows. “Spock, before your birth, it was said that your existence was not possible. Is that not so?” 

He did not reply. She said gently, “So it could also be the case that in this, as in your birth, you are expanding our knowledge of what is truly possible?” 

She felt his mind whirling, trying to both accept and reject the possibility simultaneously. She added, “Spock, it is illogical to refuse to believe that which is so.” 

He did not reply. 

She said, “The person you are thinking of – they are a member of the crew of this ship?” 

“Yes. And as such, any relationship between us of an intimate nature would be highly improper.” 

“Ah.” She sighed. “That is unfortunate. Forgive me – I am unfamiliar with the regulations of your Starfleet – would it be then, forbidden?” 

Spock looked uncomfortable. “I am not – it is not an area of the regulations I have had cause to examine in detail.” 

“But surely, relationships are formed on this ship? I understood your voyage to be a long one.” 

“Yes, but this would be – different.” 

She said gently, “Because he is your Captain?” 

She felt shock, and a reflexive desire to deny it, followed by a swift realisation of the futility of doing so. He said, so low she almost missed it, “Yes.” 

She said, “I apologise for my bluntness. And for what must feel like an invasion of privacy. I would not have known, had I not been present at the koon-ut-kalifee.” 

He turned to her quickly, “It was – apparent?” 

She shook her head. “Only to me, and I merely suspected his identity – I was not certain.” 

Spock said, with sudden vehemence, “He cannot know.” 

She blinked in surprise. “But, Spock – why not?” 

“He does not share -” He broke off. “He would not –” he stopped again. Then finished quietly, “I would not have him feel obligated to me.” 

T'sha'al said in surprise, “Spock. He is your T'hy'la. It would not be - obligation. It would be his will. I cannot imagine it could be otherwise.” 

He shook his head. “You do not know him. He would feel – bound to me.” He thought of Kirk’s sadness over the relationship with his son, sacrificed for his career. “It would make him - unhappy.” 

T'sha’al said slowly, “I find that – an unlikely outcome, however you are correct, these bonds are rare, and I do not know your Captain, and I am therefore forced to accept the likelihood of your conclusion.” 

He said, almost a murmur, “How? How could this happen? He is not Vulcan. We are – very different.” 

T'sha’al looked softly amused. She said, “Spock, you may as well ask me, why is love? That is outside of my expertise. I do not know. I know simply that what is, is.” 

After a moment, she felt him gather his scattered thoughts, and firmly compartmentalise his emotions, presumably for later meditation. Once again, she was impressed with his command over his physical and mental responses. His ability to speak through the fires of pon farr was suddenly less surprising. 

He said, “Thank you, Healer T’Sha’al. You have been of inestimable assistance and I am grateful for your forbearance at agreeing to travel so far.” 

She waved this away. “It is my duty.” She hesitated, aware that whilst that statement was indeed true, it was not her complete motivation in travelling to the Enterprise. She added, “Spock, to be entirely truthful, I suspected the nature of your bond at the koon-ut-kalifee. Part of my reason for travelling here was to ascertain if I was correct. What you have – is extremely rare.” 

She felt an odd reaction from him to her words – a strange sense of dread, at being the subject of the professional interest of a healer. Strange impressions of trying to hide his dual nature, the intrusiveness of their scientific or medical detachment, and the sense of being constantly exposed. She added gently, “But it is only your concern, and his, and no-one else’s.” 

He said, and she could feel his conscious attempt to overcome that dread, “Whilst that is true, I appreciate your assistance, T’sha’al. If – any further – issues - arise, may I contact you?” 

She said immediately, “Of course. When I return to the temple, I will message you from my private terminal, then you will always be able to contact me directly. Unless, of course,” she added lightly, “you would prefer to go through T’Pau and T’Lar.” 

He said, even quicker than she had replied, “I would not.” 

She sent a little of her amusement to him, and felt something in him relax. She rose, then added, “Spock, before you leave, may I ask you one question in regards to your Captain? It is only professional curiosity on my part, and you must feel entirely free to not answer.” 

She felt his hesitation, then a new determination to be helpful to her. “Please ask, T’sha’al.” 

“Have you melded with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Recently?” 

“Twenty-eight standard days ago.” 

“Ah.” Even by human standards, her face was alight with interest. 

Spock found himself curious to know her thoughts. “Do you believe that to be significant?” 

She did not reply, seemingly lost in thought. “Had you melded with him prior to that date?” 

“I had not. It is not something I would undertake lightly.” 

She nodded. “And you have known him for how long?” 

“Seven hundred and ten standard days."

She said meditatively. “Fascinating.” Then, as if sensing his curiosity, added, “I am only theorising, you understand? There is simply not a large enough sample of experience for definitive conclusions about this type of bond to be drawn.” 

“That is understood, T’sha’al.” 

“You are towards the top of the upper percentile, in terms of age, to have your first Pon farr. It is possible that the meld with your Captain was the trigger for that event.” 

She sensed his shock. He said, “It was – It was not a prolonged meld.” 

“It these circumstances, it would not need to be. Your body was ready, and your mind was merely awaiting the touch of its chosen bondmate.” T’sha’al acknowledged to herself that she was slightly overstepping the boundaries of professional curiosity as she added, “You were aware of none of this, Spock, so why did you meld with him?” 

“At his request.” 

“At _ his _ request?” In other circumstances, he would have found the surprise on her face almost comical. 

“Yes.” 

“But – he is human.” 

“Yes.” 

“And therefore virtually psy-null.” 

“Yes.” 

T'sha’al said in confusion, “My experience with humans is naturally limited, but I have observed that they generally do not welcome any kind of psychic connection. The meld in particular is seen as particularly invasive, however unjustified that belief.” 

“He is – an unusual human.” 

“_Why _ did he request the meld?” She added quickly, “If it is not a breach of your regulations to tell me.” 

“There were two occasions during the first year of our mission when attempts were made to replace the Captain with a duplicate. He suggested that if I was familiar with his mental landscape, I would always be able to identify with certainty if I was in the presence of the true captain of the _ Enterprise_.” 

She sat still for a long moment, then Spock was stunned to hear her laugh, quietly, but distinctly. 

He said, in confusion, “T’sha’al?” 

“Forgive me, Spock, I am not making light of the situation, and you do know him best. But that does appear to be a very convenient excuse to touch the mind of one to whom you are drawn, does it not?” 

When he did not reply, she said lightly, “I am sorry that I am not better acquainted with your Captain. He does indeed seem an – unusual individual.” 

* 

Leonard McCoy, field physician, eminent surgeon, Starfleet officer, decorated member of the Federation’s Medical Corp, was in his own sickbay. His fiefdom, his kingdom. Where he knew every inch of every instrument, every skill of all his personnel, his word was law, and even James Kirk rarely overruled him. But right now, he was a little - discombobulated. The source of this discomfort was standing next to him, listening with apparently rapt attention as he talked through the enhancements and upgrades to the ships newest diagnostic biobed. 

He’d prepared himself to be ignored. Patronised. Overlooked. Condescended to. And he’d been quite prepared to grit his teeth and bear it. What he hadn’t remotely been ready for was – interest. Active engagement. And a level of expertise in the field of xenobiology that rivalled his own. T’Rena’s knowledge was differently attained: he had managed to glean that she seemed to have a research post at the temple, but that was as far as he’d got, since every time he tried to steer the conversation around to her work, she asked another question. 

And not the polite, distant, relatively simplistic questions she had asked Jim earlier. Showing her sickbay had started to feel a bit like an inspection tour from the head of Starfleet Medical. If the head of Starfleet medical was young, female, Vulcan and quite strikingly attractive. She wanted to know the function and usage of every piece of equipment. He had begun with fairly brief, basic answers, and learnt quickly that that approach simply led to more questions. 

He’d assumed that there was a certain level of – politeness - to her questions. Professional interest, certainly, but primarily a way to entertain herself while she waited for her sister. But after she interrupted him with an elucidating comment for the third time, he was forced to the conclusion that her interest was not only genuine, but deeply felt. 

And she was seemingly interested not just in sickbay, and his work on the _Enterprise_. She referred repeatedly to papers he had written and had, apparently, not only read them, but been impressed, a fact that she seemed keen, in an understated Vulcan way, to communicate. 

And it was this last that had thrown him a little. Leonard McCoy knew his role on this ship. It was to keep as many of her crew as healthy as he could for as long as possible. Ideally, until the Enterprise docked over Earth in three years time. His other professional interests: surgical advances in xenobiology, research opportunities thrown up by the new planets and species the Enterprise encountered, had had to take a back seat to simply keeping her crew alive and well. He’d known that would be the case when he signed on. It had been one of the reasons he’d taken some persuasion. 

He’d never tell Jim, but the argument that had ultimately won him over hadn’t been exploration, or discovery, or the freedom inherent in their distance from Starfleet. It had been the simple thought that had occured to him, late one night, that if he let Starfleet’s youngest Captain go on his great voyage of exploration for five years, and he never came home, there would always be a small part of Leonard McCoy's mind that would be convinced his presence could have made a difference. And he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to live with that. 

So here he was. And there was an argument to be made already that the little voice had been right. And serving on the Enterprise was proving one of the more interesting experiences of a varied career. But it didn’t mean that he didn’t occasionally feel a pang of professional disappointment, turning down yet another lecture opportunity, offer of surgical collaboration, or sending off his findings to be studied by someone else. He still managed to turn out the occasional paper, to a limited audience of fellow medical professionals, but never, in all his time on the _Enterprise_, had he been met anyone who’d even read one, let alone admired one. 

He managed to contain his curiosity on this point, until she worked a complimentary reference to a paper that was at least ten years old into a conversation about the new species- specific settings on Starfleet’s latest model dermal regenerator. 

He lowered the regenerator and said in polite bemusement, “Ma’am, have you read _everything_ I’ve written?” 

And regretted it instantly when she flushed. She said, a little defensively, “I read all xenobiology papers that come to the temple library.” 

It occured to him that at least two of the papers she’d referenced had been primarily surgical in interest, but decided it would be deeply unchivalrous to point that out. “Ah. Yes, of course.” In an effort to correct his misstep, and hopefully make her regain some of the enthusiasm that she’d lost, he said, “As it happens, I’m, er, I’m working on another paper at the moment.” 

She looked to him immediately with pleased, professional interest. “Oh! On what subject?” She caught herself and added, “If you can tell me, of course.” 

McCoy touched her arm very lightly, and she allowed herself to be guided towards the nearest computer terminal. 

He said, “Ma’am, -“ 

Her interruption was quick, “I would have no objection if you wished to call me T'Rena, Doctor McCoy.” 

He smiled at her. “Then you must call me Leonard, Ma - T’Rena.” She was doing that smiling with her eyes thing that he’d seen Spock do, but managing to make it look significantly more charming. He said, as he pulled out a chair for her behind the desk. “T’Rena, have you ever heard of a Horta?” 

* 

Spock sat in the undisturbed near-silence of his room. He had left T’sha’al to rest, with her reassurance that she needed no assistance to contact her sister and arrange for their departure. 

He had a T’hy’la. James Kirk, his closest friend, his captain. Was also his T’hy’la. The mere concept was extraordinary. And yet, to some deep part of his mind, not a complete shock. He had felt drawn to Jim from very early in their acquaintance, and now, it seemed, there was a rationale for that attachment. The thought was almost a relief. At least now the source of his sometimes intense reactions to his friend were clear, and could be accounted for, be more easily anticipated and suppressed. 

Friend, brother, _lover_. They were friends. They were already, in Spock’s experience at least, closer than brothers. And the other – had been an aberration. A product of his time, and the confusion of his mind over the presence of another potential bond. 

He debated again the wisdom of telling Jim, and once more decided against it. Even if this was only a bond of deep friendship, he knew enough of Jim’s personality to know that he would treat it with the appropriate level of seriousness. Spock did not wish to be seen as an obligation, or an unwanted attachment. Jim had not sought this thing, and Spock would not inflict it upon him against his will. Their relationship was already, by one interpretation, that of T’hy’la, and he would look for no more. 

He would need to find another bondmate before seven years had passed, but that could be accomplished. He ignored the part of his mind that felt a stab of betrayal at the thought that any future bondmate would not be Jim. But it could _ not _ be Jim. Such was not their relationship, and Spock refused to endanger what _ was _ with a mere fantasy of what could be. T’sha’al had said his mind would accept another bond. And if it did not, there was always – Kolinahr. 

* 

_USS Enterprise, Transporter Room_

Kirk watched as T’Rena guided her sister to the correct position on the transporter padd, then stationed herself on the adjacent circle of light. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Spock yet, but it appeared that all had gone well. Certainly, they had stayed even less time than Spock had expected, which was hopefully good news. 

He said, “It was an honour to welcome you to the _ Enterprise_, Healer T’sha’al, T’Rena. We are very grateful for your visit.” 

T’Rena said, “It was our will to serve, Captain Kirk. Thank you for your hospitality, and the tour of your most impressive ship.” 

He said, pleased, “You would be welcome back any time.” 

In his mind, Spock felt a light brush against his consciousness. _Goodbye, Spock. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we may meet each other again. Live long, and prosper_.

He sent back, confident that she would hear: _ I too, T’sha’al. It has been an honour. Peace and long life_. 

T’Rena’s eyes had slipped to McCoy. She said, a little self consciously, “Live long and prosper, Doc – Leonard.” 

He smiled back at her, entirely genuine and warm, and she felt her heart give a little skip. “Peace and long life, T’Rena.” 

James Kirk experienced the unfamiliar sensation – practically unique on his own ship - of being the subject of precisely no-one's attention. 

He said uncertainly to the transporter operator, “Er, thank you, Lieutenant.” 

The beam took them both, and as the last of the gold light faded, Kirk turned to McCoy. “That seemed to go well. _Leonard_.” 

McCoy drew himself up. "That young woman,” he said with dignity, “is an extraordinary xenobiological scientist.” 

From beside Jim, Spock said mildly, “That young woman, Doctor, is older than me.” 

McCoy blinked. “Well, my point stands. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a paper to complete.” 

He left the transporter room, and at an indication from Kirk, the transporter operator followed him. In the empty room, he looked to his first officer with concern. “Spock? How are you doing?” 

Spock turned to him, and for an odd moment, Kirk felt like his friend was seeing him for the first time. He said, suddenly anxious, “Spock?” 

Then he saw one of Spock’s almost smiles, and something inside him that he hadn’t even known was tense, began to relax. “I am well, Jim.” 

“The healing was successful, then?” 

“It was.” 

Kirk grinned at him in unabashed relief. “That’s great.” He touched a hand lightly to his friend’s arm. “That’s really great.” 

Spock said, suddenly earnest, “Jim, you have been a truly exceptional friend to me, over the last few weeks, I hope you know it is my intent to always be so to you.” 

Kirk’s grin became a smile of heartfelt affection. “God, Spock, it’s good to have you back. I’ve missed you.” 

Spock said, deadpan, “I have missed me too.” 

Kirk laughed in the delight of pure relief, then said, touching Spock’s arm again, “Come on, let’s get to the bridge.” 

As they left the transporter room, he added lightly, “So, chess tonight?” 

“Indeed. I believe the current score is rather flattering to you, Captain. It is past time that was put right.” 

Kirk grinned a challenge at him. “Do your worst, Mister Spock. Do your worst.” 

As they entered the turbolift, and the doors closed, Spock touched the control but did not voice their destination. Instead he said, "Jim. Would you be amenable to playing in my quarters tonight?"

Kirk blinked. "Of course." Curiously, he added, "Any particular reason?"

"I - have a gift for you."

Kirk smiled, pleased. "Really? What's the occasion?"

Spock looked embarrassed. "I - I missed your birthday."

Kirk frowned, and then his eyes widened slightly. "Oh wow. Yes. Huh. I missed my birthday too. I wondered why Bones gave me that bourbon last week. It did seem unusually generous." At the stricken, guilty look on Spock's face, he said slowly, "Right. What's the date on Earth?"

"Today? Fifth of April, twenty-two sixty-seven." Spock added. "In Iowa right now it is six thirty seven in the evening." 

Kirk stared. "Why do you know the time in Iowa?"

Spock looked a little embarrassed. "You mentioned to me that your mother still resides there. I anticipated that you might one day ask."

A slow grin spread across Kirk's face. He said, "Spock, I'm not a selfish man, but the chances are, when Starfleet offers you promotion, I'm going to scupper it." Before Spock could react he said, "Okay, as of now, and for the duration of this voyage, my birthday is on 5th April. It's a much better date, anyway. I never liked the twenty-second of March." 

Spock said, "Jim, that is not -"

Kirk held up a hand. "You know that thing I said about not being selfish? I lied. My birthday is going to be about me. Me, myself, and the wonderfulness of I. Not you, and any lingering guilt you might be feeling about anything that wasn't at all your fault that might have happened once on 22nd March, clear?"

Spock tried again. "Jim, -"

Kirk continued as if he hadn't spoken. "So, with it being my birthday, Mister Spock, here's what you're going to do. When we're done on the bridge, you're going to find Rand, and tell her I want a special birthday meal. Something from my old nutrition list, not the McCoy approved one. Then, you're going find Bones, and you're going to tell him, nice try, but I know where he keeps the good bourbon, and that wasn't it. When you're done, I'll meet you in your quarters and act appropriately surprised. Any questions?"

"No, Captain."

"Good man. Right, let's get to the bridge."

*

Intermittently, as he walked the bridge during the rest of their shift, Kirk would pass the science station and hum distractingly. On the second occasion, Spock recognised the tune. The traditional human melody, _Happy Birthday_.

On the fifth such occasion, Spock thought, _This man is my T'hy'la._

The thought should not have brought a fierce spark of joy.

And yet, it did. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you, for sticking with this so far! I know it's a long haul! If you've left kudos, or just sent me positive vibes, and particularly if you've commented (especially if you've commented more than once!!): THANK YOU!! You know who you are and it means such a lot. I think I've responded to everybody now, but if I haven't, leave another comment to let me know! :)
> 
> And we broke the 100k words barrier in this chapter, so go team!! I've never written this much of one story before! It's a bit of a thrill for me! Also, it's looking like twenty chapters may have been optimistic for the entire fic. Twenty chapters might just end up being the end of part one, taking us to *checks notes* five days after the end of the original five year mission.
> 
> I need to leave this for a little while now and focus on the less interesting RL work I've been neglecting (my muse is already sulking about that) so please say nice things in the comments to make me feel better! (And give my muse more ammunition to nag me into carrying on, lol!)
> 
> Okay, whilst I'm doing less fun things than writing this, quick poll:  
What eps would you like to see covered before the end of the TOS section? I'm already looking at: Mirror Mirror, The Trouble with Tribbles, Journey to Babel, Bread and Circuses, Spectre of the Gun, Elaan of Troyius, The Paradise Syndrome, The Empath, and Turnabout Intruder, but if there are any others, please just shout. 
> 
> Take care of yourself, stay safe, and I'll see you soon. Love, Lia xxxxx


	13. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes set during Generations 
> 
> Scenes set during and after Mirror, Mirror 
> 
> Scene set after The Doomsday Machine 
> 
> Scenes set during and after the Trouble with Tribbles 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to give a massive shout out and the biggest virtual hug to the amazing manekikat who was a fabulous beta for this chapter! All remaining mistakes are mine. I've never had a beta before and it was so, so helpful. Thank you, thank you, you wonderful person, you <3<3<3

_Rateg City, Romulus, 2371 _

Spock closed the message from Toven with relief. The man had been remarkably efficient, and his shuttle to Vulcan would be available within a day. He had expected, given that he had asked for his own transport, and not to be smuggled aboard any kind of civilian ship, that Toven's contacts would take longer to arrange his departure. But apparently, simply supplying him with his own transport, and the correct idents to take him out of Romulan space, was an easier task. 

He suspected that _might_ be because the shuttle in question was what a long ago acquaintance would have referred to as a garage scow, but it didn't matter. He only needed it for one journey, and he was an experienced pilot, if a little out of practice. 

He turned to his small room. All that remained now was to pack. There was some advantage, he reflected dryly, to the ascetic lifestyle he had adopted for the past few years. Packing would involve very little effort indeed. He had a grand total of one bag, and that would be partly empty. He crossed to his cot, reached underneath, and retrieved the item in question. It had long ago lost any claim to desirability as a travel item, being significantly worn and battered by the passage of time, but he had not seen any logic in replacing an item that retained its usefulness. 

He shook it out, and moved to the desk to add the few items he possessed. As his padd hit the bottom of the bag, there was a quiet clinking sound. He stopped. There was nothing in the bag to impact with the padd and cause such a sound. He reached in, moved the padd to one side, and his exploring hand closed on a small metal item. 

He lifted it into the light. It was a tiny replica tricorder. Not the grey, plain, functional ones used by Starfleet officers today, but the same style as he himself had used on the original Enterprise. His heart gave a reluctant lurch. He remembered this item. He had thought it long lost. Moving automatically, he opened the replica front to the tricorder with his thumb. James Kirk's voice filled the room.

"Happy Birthday Spock. I'm sorry I can't be there today, but I'll be home tomorrow, I promise. In the meantime, I know its illogical to miss equipment, but I've seen the look you give those modern tricorders - "

Spock flicked the tricorder closed. Kirk's voice stopped. He took a deep breath. The anger he thought he had mastered yesterday returned. _Am I to be **haunted** by this man?_ He turned the tricorder over in his hand, then tilted his palm, allowing the item to slip to the floor. He moved his foot over it, and exerted pressure until it was crushed beneath his boot.

He exhaled slowly, then returned to his packing. 

*

_The Nexus. __Stardate__: unknown. Location: unknown. _   
_Location of ‘energy ribbon’ entry point: seven light years from Romulus, on a course for the __Veridian__ system. _

Kirk whirled in place, taking in the room around him. 

_ No_. 

No, this wasn’t right. He’d been – he’d been – somewhere else. With someone else. Someone – _important_. His – his – the word wouldn’t come. 

“Damn,” he muttered despairingly. “Damn, damn,_ dammit_.” 

A voice behind him said gently, “Can I help you?” 

He turned again. He was in some kind of bar. Plain, basic decoration and tables. Behind the bar itself stood the owner of the voice. A woman of indeterminate age, dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair, and a deep purple robe. His eyes said human, but his instinct said – something else. 

“Hello, Captain.” 

She had a beautiful smile. He suspected, in other circumstances, he would have found her mere presence soothing. As it was, he frowned at her. “I – I know you, don’t I?” 

“In here? Outside of time? Yes. We’ve spoken before. Outside of here? In time?” She gave a slightly self-conscious shrug, and another flash of that smile. “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know what goes on in time anymore.” 

“We’re outside of _time?_” 

“Yes.” 

“Where - Where is here?” 

“The Nexus.” 

He stared at her for a long moment. 

“I knew that.” 

She nodded. “You did.” 

“Why did I forget?” 

“You are proving - troublesome. The Nexus has had to resort to interfering with your memory.” 

“_Why_? If I’m so troublesome why doesn’t it just let me go?” 

“Because letting you go now would not deliver your heart's desire. But the fact that you are here again, speaking to me, would seem to indicate your time is …. soon.” 

“I thought you said we were outside of time here.” 

“We are.” 

“Then why the_ hell _am I still waiting?” 

“Because the way out is not outside of time. And we are waiting for someone. Someone who needs your help.” 

“There _is _someone. Someone I keep forgetting. I’m sure –“ 

She shook her head. “No. He is too far. His path does not lie here. There is someone closer.” 

“Who?” 

“I think – a friend. I will send him to you, when he arrives.” 

The air around her began to fade. 

Kirk said quickly, “You’re fading. What’s going on?” 

She gave him a sad sort of smile. “You are forgetting me again. Our conversations distress you. Farewell, Captain. May you see your heart’s desire. All my hopes go with you.” 

* 

Kirk looked around him in confusion. A lush green landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. It looked familiar, but this – wasn't right. He’d been somewhere else, he’d been talking to – He'd been with - 

There had _definitely _been someone – he’d been _close _this time, this was _important_, this was - 

There was a whinny from his immediate left and a warm weight nuzzled his shoulder. He turned to see a gorgeous bay, saddled, bridled, and clearly impatient to be off. 

He raised a hand automatically and stroked her muzzle absently. “Hey girl.” He was still looking around. He had the very distinct feeling that he’d just forgotten something. Something very important. He just needed a moment to - 

There was a thunder of hooves to his right. Another bay pulled up abruptly, frightening Kirk’s horse, and she made to pull away. He grabbed the rein and stroked her neck, whispering reassurance. He heard a woman’s gasped apology. “I’m so sorry, he just got away from me there.” 

He turned, and squinted at the rider. Was this who he’d been looking for? There was something familiar - memory dawned, and he said with a smile, “_ Antonia _?” 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, __Stardate__: __5263.03__ (__Terran__ Calendar: 24__th__ April 2267) Ship’s time: 11.45 _

Spock waited for the doors to the Captain’s quarters to close before standing in front of them and regarding James Kirk evenly. Ever since returning from the planet, the Captain had been aggressive, hostile, violent and as unlike himself as Spock had known since the Tantalus colony. So he had asked to speak to the Captain alone. Uhura, Scotty, and McCoy remained in the transporter room under the watchful eye of Commander Darren, the Enterprise’s bullish security chief. 

His Captain had strode into the room with confidence but was now staring around him in displeased shock. 

Then, to Spock’s surprise, he threw off his uniform tunic and rounded on the Vulcan with a look of irritation. “Come on then, I haven’t got all day. And this had better be good.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me. What have you done to the ship, you traitorous half breed bastard?” He was pacing around his quarters, staring into every corner like he was looking for a threat. “And I thought you said this would wear off?” 

“Captain?” 

“The pon fever – thing. My tolerance only extends so far.” He rounded again on Spock. “The only reason you’re not in a booth already is because you’re a damn good fuck and a passable first officer,” he ended his prowl in front of the Vulcan and shoved a finger in his face, “but_ don’t push me_.” 

Spock was aware he was staring at his Captain. His brain seemed to be struggling to parse Kirk’s last sentence. One thing, however, was abundantly clear. “As per our previous agreement, I request that you meld with me before we return to the bridge.” 

It was Kirk’s turn to stare. “What the hell is the matter with you? How many times do we have to have this conversation? You can have this-“ he gestured to himself, “but this-“ he jabbed at his head. “- is mine, you understand? You’re not getting any of your Vulcan voodoo up in here, I thought I made that clear?” He turned, began to pace again, eyeing a point on the wall over his desk. 

Spock stared. “My Vulcan-“ he stopped, “Captain, to what do you refer?” 

Kirk turned back to him, aggression in every line of his movement. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here - what you’ve done with the ship, with the crew, or even your damn beard.” He came right into Spock’s personal space, so close that Spock could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. “But I’ll figure it out, and when I do, you’d better hope I like it.” 

He took a breath, said evenly, “Captain, if you refuse the mind touch, I will be forced to assume that you have been replaced by a double and act accordingly.” 

Kirk laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “That desperate, are you? Alright, Spock.” He leaned back slightly with the air of a man who had the upper hand, and knew it. “Fucking first, then an explanation. I suppose I can trust you for now.” He sauntered away from Spock, towards the desk, stripping off his t-shirt as he did so. Spock was forced to notice, once again, that his captain was possessed of an attractive physique. He blinked, to dismiss the thought. Kirk leant back against the desk. “Come here then, I don’t have all day.” 

Spock took a steadying breath. Inferring from context, he was clearly expected to engage in some kind of sexual encounter with this barbaric and unstable version of James Kirk. He wondered, for the briefest of moments, exactly what the alternate version of himself Kirk was expecting would do in this situation, then dismissed the thought as entirely too distracting. 

He said slowly, “As you wish.” He crossed to his Captain, raised a hand to his face, and trailed his fingers gently from the top of his cheek to his jawline. Kirk gripped him by the hip and pulled him closer. In the moment before their bodies connected, Spock lowered his hand further and nerve pinched him in the neck. He caught him before he hit the floor, and lowered him to the deck. 

He stared for a moment at the unconscious man, regulating his pulse and breathing. Then he stepped across him to the desk, and called security. 

* 

By the time the guards arrived, Kirk was still unconscious, but Spock had managed to redress him in his uniform tunic. He had been finding the sight of a semi-nude, unconscious Kirk lying at his feet to be – uncomfortable. And it would not do, even for a crew as loyal as that of the Enterprise, for the security team to wonder why the Captain was alone with his first officer whilst half naked. They might leap to what was, apparently, the correct conclusion regarding the relationship between _ this _version of James Kirk and his first officer. 

As the security detail hauled him up, Kirk began to regain consciousness, and curse them. Spock explained briefly that this was a double of the captain, an assertion they seemed to have no trouble believing, although the choice language and threats their captain was currently using probably played as large a part in their quick acceptance as Spock’s assertion of the fact. 

By the time they passed the transporter room, Uhura, Scott, and McCoy were also being escorted by Darren and his men. Darren himself was sporting a fresh cut on his face. Spock nodded at it, and Darren inclined a slightly sheepish head towards a furious-looking Uhura. Spock raised an eyebrow in return. 

* 

As the force shield across the holding cell shimmered into place, Kirk ran at it, stopping just in time. Uhura, McCoy, and Scotty gathered as far away from their angry captain as they could in the small space. Spock didn’t blame them, given the man’s capacity for aggression. Kirk stopped millimetres short of the energy pulsing across the front of the cell and addressed his first officer. “Spock. What is it that will buy you? Power?” 

Spock stared. It was uncanny. This man had James Kirk’s physical form. His face. His voice. But it was like watching a dangerous alien lifeform inhabit his friend’s skin. He had known in the transporter room, almost before he spoke, that this was – somehow - not his captain, and events had proved him right. Not least Kirk’s first action of jumping off the transporter padd and punching the unsuspecting operator in the face, whilst cursing his competence, an action which had shocked no-one in the landing party at all. 

He looked back at Kirk and murmured, “Fascinating.” 

He experienced a moment of trepidation that these mockeries of his friends were accurate representations of their universe, and squashed a stab of fear for his true captain. Jim was highly intelligent and resourceful. He would find a way home. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to look at this distorted facsimile any longer. He turned away from the force field. 

Kirk called after him, “Power, Spock? I can get that for you.” 

Then, as the doors closed behind him, he heard, pitched to carry only to Vulcan ears, “_T’hy’la _.” 

It was a mangled, barbaric pronunciation, but it was close enough. Spock froze. Turned. Took a reluctant step back into the room. The other Kirk was staring at him through the force shield, eyes intense, a small, triumphant smile on his lips. He continued, in that same low tone, “Is that what you want, Spock? That – that – _bond _ ? What if I said you could? What if you could have _all _of me?” 

Spock felt an unexpected and visceral wave of anger course through him. He covered the distance to the barrier in a few quick steps, lowered his voice, and hissed, barely keeping the fury from his tone. “_You _are not _that _to _me_.” 

Something in his voice must have communicated, because Kirk fell back from the barrier, regarding him through narrowed eyes. 

He turned quickly and left. This time, no voice followed him. 

* 

_ Mirror USS Enterprise, same day _

James Kirk stood in his quarters, close to the desk, listening to Spock monologue about the illogic of the Halkan’s stance, and trying to look comfortable. At home. And not to stare around. They were his quarters. They were, in many respects, identical. But like the rest of this ship and crew, they were just wrong enough to make the hair at the back of his neck stand up, and feed a constant, low level, anxiety that grated on his nerves. Everywhere he looked brought a reminder that this was_ not _his Enterprise, and nothing more so than the man in front of him right now. 

The bearded, dangerous, Spock facsimile had finished speaking and was eyeing him closely. “Captain, you seem – as you humans say – not yourself. On edge.” 

Kirk set his jaw. The main thing that had him on edge right now was how to get rid of this disturbing copy so he could investigate this alternate ship more closely, but Spock didn’t seem inclined to leave him alone, even sending his guards outside so they could talk unobserved. On the one hand, that was good, as it implied at least a basic level of trust between captain and first officer, that Kirk could hopefully use. On the other hand, he was alone with a version of Spock he neither knew nor trusted. And he didn’t want to risk trusting _ anyone _here, not even Spock. 

The man in question had drawn uncomfortably close. On his own ship, Kirk would have given way, allowing his first officer whatever space he wanted. But this was not his ship. This was a harsh, brutal inversion of his Enterprise, and he couldn’t afford to show weakness, especially not to this man. 

He said, neutrally, but with an undercurrent of threat, “What’s your point, Mister Spock?” 

An eyebrow rose, the look so familiar, that even over the stress and strangeness of the situation, it was a fine needle to Kirk’s heart. Spock said, quietly, still too close, “I was merely wondering if there was something I could do – to help you relax?” 

Kirk stared. If this had been anyone else, anyone else _at all_, that sentence would have sounded _laden _ with subtext. As it was, his mind was clearly working overtime with its analysis of the situation, and the status of the relationship between this Spock and his Captain, and had come up with a totally erroneous conclusion. He said firmly, “I can handle it, Mister Spock, thank you.” 

And _ that _was almost a smile. Spock said, “I’m sure you can, Captain, but these things are often easier with – help.” He raised a hand, and it took every ounce of discipline in Kirk not to flinch away, but the hand merely outlined a pointedly gentle path along Kirk’s jaw. 

Kirk’s eyes widened at the touch. He’d been expecting – aggression, maybe even violence, but this was – something very different. As he stood frozen, searching for an appropriate response, Spock’s hand continued its exploration by tracing down his arm, still with that disconcerting gentleness. Kirk knew first-hand the strength behind that deceptive touch and the thought uppermost in his mind was how to handle this situation to avoid turning it against him. 

Until Spock’s hand reached his own, and intertwined their fingers. This had gone far enough. He said firmly, although it lacked some of the authority he’d intended his voice to have, “_Spock _–“ 

The Vulcan paid him no heed, using their intertwined fingers to raise Kirk’s hand within his own. After a moment’s resistance, Kirk allowed himself to be moved. There was still a large part of his brain insisting that this couldn’t possibly be going where experience told him it almost definitely was. Not with _Spock_. But whatever was happening, he wanted to try end it quickly without antagonising the man before him. 

He drew breath to try again, then Spock finished his movement by entwining Kirk’s fingers through his own dark hair. The words died in Kirk's throat, as the only thought his suddenly traitorous brain would supply was how unexpectedly soft and smooth Spock’s hair was. Like strands of silk between his fingers. 

Spock must have seen the change in his thoughts, because that almost smile came again, and in one smooth movement, Spock dropped to his knees and pressed his face to Kirk’s groin. There was heated breath, and pressure, and Kirk was torn between a sensation of near panic and a jolt of arousal so unexpected it stole his breath. He gasped out, “Spock._ Stop _.” 

Spock looked up in surprise. 

Kirk managed, ”I – I don’t think we have time for –“ 

Before he could finish, the door chime sounded, and he almost shouted, “Yes! Come in.” 

Spock stood rapidly, throwing him a disapproving glare, just before the door opened to reveal McCoy. 

Kirk said quickly, “Come in, Doctor. I, er, I wanted to speak to you about the Halkans. _Urgently_.” 

McCoy did as instructed, giving Spock a wide berth. The Vulcan stared at him with open hostility. 

Kirk said, “Thank you, Mister Spock.” 

For a heart stopping moment he thought Spock wasn’t going to take the hint. But then he murmured, “Captain”, still staring daggers at McCoy, and left. 

The door closed behind him and Kirk reached out a hand to McCoy’s shoulder, steadying himself under his friend’s concerned gaze. 

McCoy said, “Jim, you’re the colour of beets. Are you okay? What the hell just happened?” 

Kirk took a deep breath. “Bones, never, _ever _let anyone tell you your timing isn’t _ excellent_.” 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, same day, ship’s time: 20:25 _

James Kirk walked down the corridor, heading for his quarters, first officer at his side. He’d made a joke about it on the bridge, but the sight of a clean-shaven Spock in front of him as he materialised had brought on a feeling of relief so profound, he’d had to stop himself jumping off the pad and hugging him on the spot. 

As they entered his quarters, he said, “I know I said it before, but good job on spotting the imposters so quickly. I hate to think of that man in charge of my ship.” He stopped in front of his desk and turned to face his friend. 

Spock had halted in front of him. “It was not challenging, Captain. The alternate you was hostile and aggressive from the moment he appeared. After the problems with the transporter, it was not a difficult assumption to make. And he refused the mind touch.” 

Kirk looked pleased. “Did he? Well, I don’t want to say I told you so, Mister Spock, but I knew that meld would come in useful.” 

There was a pause before Spock replied evenly, “Indeed, Captain.” He hesitated, then added, “My alternate self did not suggest it to you?” 

“No, he didn’t. Thank goodness. He'd have rumbled us pretty fast if he had. Still, like you said, we had the easier job, pretending to be them.” Kirk stopped. Took a breath. “The, er, the other me, he wasn’t - aggressive to _you_, was he?” 

“No, he – “ Spock paused, then finished carefully. “He – was not.” 

“Oh good. That’s good.” It occurred to Jim, all at once, that they were standing in the exact positions he and the alternate Spock had been standing in when – he moved hastily to sit behind the desk. Before he could stop it, the memory of Spock’s hair sliding between his fingers returned to him, and he cleared his throat to banish the thought before saying quickly, “Well. I should -” 

Spock said, abruptly, “The alternate version of myself did not – he was not aggressive? To you.” 

Kirk shook his head. “No. He was -” He stopped, cleared his throat again. “They actually, er, seemed to get along. Somewhat. By the standards of that universe at least.” 

“That was my impression also." Spock paused, then, “However, I find _this_ universe – infinitely preferable.” 

Kirk shot him a fervent smile of agreement. “You and me both, Mister Spock, you and me both. Although,” he added mischievously, “I _might _ be able to get used to that goatee.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Most illogical.” 

“Though if you do ever decide to grow one, warn me. I don’t want to return from leave or something and find you on the bridge looking like a pirate. I’d probably have you thrown in the brig.” 

Spock looked quietly amused. 

Partly out of genuine curiosity, and partly to move the conversation away from alternate Spock and any reminder of the feel of his hair, Kirk said, “Did you think - “ he hesitated, then added, “probably my imagination, but did Bones seem a little – quiet to you?” 

Spock said slowly, “The doctor seemed – as verbose as usual.” 

Kirk nodded. “Probably my imagination.” He added with a smile, “He’s fond of you, though, in any universe.” 

“I find that an unlikely assertion, Captain.” Spock’s eyebrows had climbed almost to his hairline. 

“If you say so, Mister Spock, but he nearly missed our beam out trying to save pirate you.” 

“The doctor frequently allows sentiment to override common sense.” Spock’s tone was more thoughtful than censorious. 

Kirk smiled to himself, and added, “Got no thanks for it, alternate you still dragged him to the transporter room with a knife to his throat.” 

Spock stared. He had not deemed it worthy to mention to Jim, as he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it, but the doctor_ had _done one slightly strange thing on the bridge. As McCoy had moved to the turbolift to return to sickbay, Spock had been crossing the higher level of the bridge to check the engineering station. There was no danger of their colliding, but on turning and finding him so unexpectedly close, McCoy had – flinched. It was such a small movement that Spock had almost convinced himself he’d imagined it. Now, he wondered. 

Kirk was saying, “I’m looking forward to reading the reports of the rest of the landing party on this one. They’ll be – interesting. I don’t like to think what command will make of it.” He pulled a face then added, “But they must be getting used to reports like that from us by now.” He looked at his first officer, and tilted his head. “Spock? You with me?” 

Spock visibly roused himself. “Yes, Captain. I will also be - interested to view the reports.” 

* 

Leonard McCoy sat back in his desk chair, and poured himself a third drink. He had a feeling it would take more than three before sleep came easy tonight. 

The entry chime sounded, and he stared at the door in irritation. Not a medical emergency, or sickbay would comm him. 

He waited. Not Jim, or he’d have called out, or just let himself in by now. 

The chime came again. McCoy sighed. Sipped his drink. Waited some more. 

The chime came a third time. 

McCoy groaned. “Yeah, alright, come in.” 

The door slid aside and the Enterprise's first officer - blessedly,_ blessedly _clean shaven - took a few uncertain paces into the room, before eyeing McCoy evenly. “Good evening, Doctor. I apologise for the intrusion into your off-duty time.” 

McCoy said testily, “As you should, since you weren’t taking no for an answer, and you look healthy enough to me.” 

On Spock’s face, he sighed, and waved towards the other chair. “Well, sit down then, as you’re here.” 

Spock said, stiffly, still standing, “What I have to say will not take long.” 

McCoy stared up at him in irritation. “I don’t care. You're looming over me like the ghost of Christmas past. You wanna chat, you sit your ass in the chair, Spock.” 

The Vulcan’s face tightened almost infinitesimally, but he did as instructed. 

McCoy said, softening his tone somewhat, “I know I can’t interest you in any alcohol, but I’ve got some mixers if you want. Fruit juice, that kind of thing.” 

“That will not be necessary.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

“But thank you.” 

“Anytime.” McCoy was belatedly surprised by how sincere that sounded. When had he started to not simply tolerate Spock’s company? Before he could follow that thought any further, Spock said, abruptly, apropos apparently nothing, “I am not responsible for the actions of my counterpart in the alternate universe.” 

McCoy stared. “I know that.” He added, “Same goes for me, and whatever that torture chamber owning bastard who looked like me did when he was over here.” 

“He was not given the opportunity to do anything. The entire landing party were confined after beam in.” 

McCoy nodded. He said, with vehement satisfaction, “Good.” 

He sipped his drink in the ensuing silence, before Spock said, carefully, “However, -” then stopped. 

McCoy grimaced. “Urgh, I don’t like however. ‘However’ is never good.” 

There was a silence. He waved his drink at the man opposite him. “Come on, Spock, spit it out, I’d like to sleep at some point tonight.” 

“I have read the reports of all members of the landing party on the events that took place in that alternate reality.’ 

“Good for you. Fascinating read, was it? Shame there’s no pictures.” McCoy downed half of his glass. 

Spock continued, “I wished to – seek further elucidation regarding one incident referred to in your report.” 

“Did you now.” McCoy's voice was dry. 

“I believe it contains - an unlikely assertion.” 

There was a silence. Then McCoy said, still in that same even tone, “So you've interrupted my off-duty time to keep me from my sleep _ and _ call me a liar? That’s a gutsy play for a man with a physical coming up.” 

Spock said evenly, “I am not questioning the truthfulness of your account. Merely it’s detail.” 

He added, “It is interesting. I have noticed that you frequently refer to your own professionalism in disparaging terms. You employ language to members of the crew implying that should they deviate from your wishes; their future treatment will be less than professional. It is never the case. 

“You regularly imply also that your skills are lesser than they are: 'simple country doctor' being a term I have heard you employ on seven separate occasions. That is a highly inaccurate assertion, since your performance as CMO of this ship has been exemplary from the day of your arrival. You are, quite rightly, highly regarded by the Captain, and the entire crew, a large number of whom, myself included, owe their continued existence to your presence on this ship. 

“That being said, if you wished to assign my physical next week to Doctor M’Benga, I would raise no objection.” 

McCoy said thickly, “_ Spock _. Just - shut up.” 

The Vulcan fell silent. 

After another moment, McCoy said, wearily, “Come on then. What’s your problem with the report?” 

“It states that you volunteered information to my counterpart regarding the true identities of the landing party, and their location at that moment.” 

McCoy’s voice was as dry and featureless as the Arizona desert. “And?” 

“You would not have volunteered that information. You are not a coward, nor are you easily intimidated. Even by someone stronger than you, in a state of – emotional unbalance. When you returned to the ship, you were physically unharmed. Therefore, he gained his certainty as to the landing parties' objective another way.” 

“Spock - “ McCoy’s drink hit the table with a snap. 

The Vulcan held up a hand. “Please, Doctor, allow me to say this. I belong to a race of telepaths. As such, there is a code of behavioural ethics drilled into us from childhood. These are not laws. They do not need to be. No Vulcan would touch the mind of another uninvited, for nefarious purpose, without risking the censure of our entire race. It is not done. And to do it to a non-telepath is –” he took a breath. “It is a violation. And – on behalf of my race – I am truly sorry it was done to you.” 

McCoy had folded his arms as Spock began speaking. After a moment, he unfolded them, and reached again for his drink. The hand he extended was unsteady, and he dropped it back into his lap. Silence fell. 

After a moment, Spock said, hesitantly, carefully, “Have you – suffered any ill-effects?” 

McCoy took a breath. Then another. “Had a headache for a day. Gone now.” His voice was gruff. “I scanned myself though. Everything normal up there. Just – stress, probably.” 

“Have you considered - “ 

“No. Whatever the end of that sentence was going to be – no.” He met the Vulcan’s troubled gaze. “Spock, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. I really do. But you were right. It’s not your responsibility. And I’m fine. It wasn’t - I mean, it’s not like – it didn’t take long. As you said. Non telepath. Not much resistance.” 

Spock noticeably paled. “That is not -” 

“I’m_ fine_, Spock. I am. It was a shock, more than anything else. Not used to – anyone else messing around up there.” 

“Nevertheless -” 

“Spock. Relax. For God’s sake. You look like you’re about to pass out. Don’t make me get my med kit out, I’m not sober enough for that. Look, are you - sure I can’t interest you in this?” He raised his glass. 

As Spock opened his mouth to respond, McCoy said, “Yeah, alright, I know. No alcohol. I know. Look, you’ve said your piece. I – appreciate it. So – thanks. I’m good. We’re – we’re fine here.” The words were an obvious dismissal. 

There was a long, awkward silence. Spock didn’t move. Then he said, carefully, “Is that – the good stuff?” 

McCoy blinked. “Sorry, what?” 

“The Captain has implied, on more than one occasion, that you have two distinct sources of bourbon on board. One that is – standard, and one that is - as he terms it – the good stuff.” 

McCoy stared. “Oh,_ has _he? Well. Well, you tell Captain Loose Lips from me that he’d better not spread that around if he wants to ever see the good stuff again. And no, it isn’t. Which you’d know, if you drank. Let this be your first lesson, Mister Spock. Alcohol one-oh-one: never use the good stuff to get yourself drunk. You’ll waste it.” 

“I see.” Spock considered this for a moment. “That is – actually quite logical. In its way.” 

McCoy almost smiled. “Oh, there’s more where that came from. The unwritten rules of alcohol consumption are many and varied.” 

“I have no doubt. So you maintain, if I wished to appreciate the finer qualities of the beverage in question, and not become inebriated, that I would require - the good stuff?“ 

“You would indeed.” 

Spock’s gaze travelled slowly from the glass in front of McCoy, to the doctor’s face. An expectant eyebrow quirked. 

McCoy’s almost smile became a slow grin, and he rose, pointing at the Enterprise’s first officer. “Sit there, Spock.” He clapped his hands together like a magician about to perform a trick. “And prepare to have your sensory horizons expanded.” 

* 

Two decks away, James Kirk threw himself on his bed, and hoped sleep wouldn’t take too long to come. He’d agreed to observe some security drills before his shift with Commander Darren, so his rest was going to be truncated as it was. He shifted himself to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. Half an hour, and a great deal of fidgeting later, he opened them again, staring at the ceiling in irritation. 

He had a fairly standard nightly routine, when ship’s business allowed, and usually sleep came fast. Not tonight, apparently. It wasn’t helping that his mind seemed determined to remind him of the one thing he didn’t want to examine in any detail whatsoever. He was sorry, in a way, he’d never got to meet his alternate self. It would have given him no small measure of satisfaction to punch the vicious, exploitative bastard right in the face. 

The only meagre consolation he could draw from his alternate’s sexual exploitation of at least two of his crew was that it hadn’t seemed – at least overtly - forced. Both Marla and – god help him, but he wasn’t getting over this any time soon – Spock had been the instigators in their encounters. 

There was some relief in that, at least. The mere idea that _any_ version of himself – or anyone at all, in fact – could coerce sexual favours out of Spock was nauseating. He turned away from that thought in abhorrence. Which, thanks to his still obsessed brain, led him immediately back to the thought he’d been avoiding since it happened – his own reaction. 

On one hand, he’d reacted pretty much the way he always hoped he’d react to a member of his crew throwing themselves at him with overt sexual intent: with shock, disapproval, yet enough professionalism not to overreact and make a bad situation worse. On the other hand, there’d been a not insignificant part of him that had been almost enthusiastic about the turn his day had taken. And that was not only unsettling, but inappropriate as all hell. He just – didn’t think of Spock that way. At all. _ Ever._

Almost never. 

And Spock belonged to a people who experienced a sexual drive only once every seven years, so he clearly wasn’t thinking of anyone in that way, so – his train of thought came to an abrupt halt. If Spock only experienced that particular drive once every seven years, what had alternate Spock been doing, initiating a sexual encounter with his captain? 

It had been – he calculated quickly – one standard month since Vulcan. Spock had indicated he was entirely recovered, and – certainly since the visit of the Vulcan healer – Kirk believed him. If anything, his first officer had seemed more relaxed since, as if some things that had been bothering him had been laid to rest. But his alternate self didn’t seem the type to run around the galaxy at the behest of his first officer, whatever the provocation. Yet alternate Spock was alive. So how had he weathered the pon farr? An obvious answer suggested itself. 

Kirk swung himself out of bed, walked to the desk, poured himself a drink, downed it, and breathed steadily until the urge to turn the ship around, find a way back to that other universe, and pummel his alternate self to within an inch of his life had subsided. 

He deliberately turned his thoughts to his own Spock. His report on the behaviour of their alternate selves had been, in common with Spock’s reports generally, baldly factual, and, no doubt, entirely accurate. Although, in some areas it had also been – very much _not _in common with Spock’s reports generally – lacking in detail. The main example which interested Jim was his plain statement that during their private conversation his double had 'demonstrated a command style and personality traits inconsistent with those of Captain Kirk”. And didn’t _that_ cover a range of possibilities. Not many of them good. 

Spock hadn’t seemed disturbed by the encounter, and he prided himself that he could read his own first officer pretty well by now, but he still wanted to ask for more detail. Just to be sure. But that would open the door to the_ other _side of that conversation – his own experiences with Spock’s double. And he just wasn’t ready for casual chat on that score. So, at least for now, his curiosity would have to remain unsatisfied. 

He set down his glass and returned to the bed. Eventually, sleep claimed him. 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, __Stardate__: __5417.7 __(__Terran __calendar: 15__th _ _ May 2267) Ship’s time: 22:15 _

_“Mister Spock, I'm officially notifying you that I'm exercising my option under regulations as a Starfleet Commodore, and that I am assuming command of the Enterprise.”_   
  
_“You have the right to do so, but I would advise against it.”_   
  
_“That thing must be destroyed.”_   
  
_“You tried to destroy it once before, Commodore. The result was a wrecked ship and a dead crew.”_   
  
_“I made a mistake then. We were too far away. This time I'm going to hit it with full __phasers__ at point-blank range.”_   
  
_“Sensors show the object's hull is solid __neutronium__. A single ship cannot combat it.”_   
  
_“Mister Spock, that will be all. You have been relieved of command. Don't force me to relieve you of duty as well.”_

Kirk leaned forward, and with one swift, volatile motion of his thumb, flicked off the screen on his desk. The image of the bridge faded away, along with the voices of Decker and Spock. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Damn._ Damn_.” He shook his head. “He was a good man. A fine officer.” 

He looked at his first officer, seated on the other side of the desk. Spock said quietly, “I grieve with thee.” 

“Losing his entire crew – I can’t even - “ he broke off, inhaled again. “You were right though: fighting him every inch of the way. The next time someone from the brass starts issuing crazy orders when I’m not around, you have my permission – no, you have my _standing orders _ – to use that Vulcan neck grab and take command.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not sure that defence would stand up at my inevitable court martial.” 

Kirk gave him a half smile. “Maybe not.” There was a silence. 

Spock became aware that Kirk was merely looking at him, a small smile still playing on his lips. After a moment, he said, uncertainly, “Captain?” 

“You shouldn’t have followed my order, you know. Even in those circumstances, he outranked me. He had every right to take command. By any measure, you would have been correct to ignore me, and follow his orders. It was – the logical thing to do.” Kirk was still smiling. “But, d’you know something?” Spock looked at him curiously. “I knew you wouldn’t. I didn’t have a moment’s doubt that you’d take command as soon as I asked.” 

Spock said carefully, “The Commodore was demonstrating mental instability incompatible with command of a starship.” 

“And if he hadn’t been?” 

“Captain?” 

“Out of interest. If he’d been entirely stable up to that point, and I’d called the ship and told you to assume command. Would you have done?” 

Spock considered for a moment. Then said decisively, “Yes. You would not ask me to defy orders without a cogent rationale. Therefore, even if I was unaware of that rationale, the logical action would still be to follow your orders.” 

Kirk gave a soft laugh. “I thought you’d say that.” 

Still smiling, he met his first officer’s gaze. After a moment, he said, “Sometimes I think - “ He broke off, and looked away, before continuing quietly. “We’re doing something special out here. Oh, I know how that sounds – and I'm not blowing my own trumpet, because it isn’t just me. It’s you. It’s Bones. It’s Scotty. It’s the crew. It’s - this ship. It works, somehow, in a way I just – never expected it would. I dreamed about commanding my own ship, but I thought it would be more, I don’t know, mundane, somehow. Harder. Lonelier. Less like – family. I didn’t think it would be like this. I didn’t expect – you. 

“Command have been – making noises. Keep going like this, Jim, you might end up the youngest Admiral in the fleet, that kind of thing.” He shook his head ruefully. “I can’t find enough ways to say thanks, but no thanks. And I can’t seem to get them to understand – It isn’t me. Not just me.” He looked again at Spock. “I keep thinking, without you, I’d be – a good captain. I would. I know where my strengths lie. I’ve worked all my life for this. 

“But you – make me great. You let me fly. I can take risks, push the boundaries, make the tough decisions, because I know you’ve got my back. Always. No matter what. I know I’ve said it before, and it seems inadequate, but – thank you.” 

He took a breath in the ensuing silence. “But, having said all that, I also wanted to say – I think you’re ready. Your own command. And if you want me to put a word in at headquarters, I will. My stock is pretty high right now, and the Lexington is coming up. Borrington’s retiring. It’s a good ship. Strong scientific remit. She’d suit you.” 

He gave a rueful grin. “I think it’s pretty clear I don’t want you lose you as my first officer, but you’re also my friend. And I’d be no kind of friend to you if I didn’t think about your career as well.” 

He took another breath. ‘Anyway, think about it. Let me know your decision.” 

* 

Spock listened as Kirk spoke._ I didn’t expect – you. _ It was such an accurate summation of his own position that he felt emotion seize his throat. _ I also did not expect you__. Jim. T__'hy’la _ _ . _

Kirk had started speaking again. He felt a rush of relief at his outright rejection of the notion of becoming an Admiral. A promotion would take him away from the Enterprise, and such a thing was unthinkable. 

_ You – make me great. _He blinked in surprise. That was untrue, his Captain was - Spock became aware of a strange sensation. As Jim spoke, in that quiet, intense way he sometimes did when in the grip of strong emotion, Spock felt as if he could _ feel _ what Jim was feeling. That the words Jim spoke could have been lifted entirely from his own mind. So strong was the sensation that for a moment he withdrew a portion of his attention into his own mind, seeking to suppress and compartmentalise the feeling for later meditation. As he did so, gold light flickered through his inner awareness like fireflies at dusk. 

The memory of their meld on Vulcan came back to him. The gold thread that had seemed almost overwhelming in it’s intensity then - was still there. It was lesser, now, but still unmistakably, present. The t’hy’la bond. Still incomplete, it should, as Spock understood such things, be – dormant. Inactive. But it was not. It seemed to be responding to Jim. To his words, his emotion, to the fact that his attention, his presence, was focussed on Spock. 

He became a aware that Kirk had stopped speaking, and the room had fallen silent. 

Sensible that a response was required, after a moment, he said, “Jim I – “ that odd constriction was still in his throat. He swallowed, began again. “Jim. I believe you do yourself a disservice, and give myself too much credit. You are an exceptional Captain and would be so on any ship in the fleet. However, you are correct in one particular – we have formed a remarkably efficacious and efficient command team. As such, it would be – highly illogical – to sacrifice such an achievement on the altar of personal ambition, even if I harboured such ambition, which, I should be clear, I do not.” 

Kirk’s smile had widened. He was now gazing at Spock with what was, even by human standards, compelling and open affection. Spock felt as if a small, neglected part of his mind was glowing. Was this what a bond felt like? He had never experienced such a thing with T’Pring. It was – almost disturbing. And should not be possible. The bond that T’Sha’al had spoken of, the one that sought his t’hy’la, was incomplete. How was he then able to feel this – closeness – with Jim? Was this the nature of bonds in general, or just the t’hy’la bond in particular? 

Jim was saying, with fond amusement, “Ah yes. Staying here is the _logical _choice. Right. I should have seen that. It’s a good thing I’ve got you here to keep me straight on such things.” 

Spock looked across the desk at his captain. His friend. His t’hy’la. Feeling strangely daring, as the ship’s night stretched around them, and that gold glow warmed a neglected corner of his mind, he allowed some of his affection for this man to creep into his expression, to show behind his eyes. He saw the moment Kirk intuited the change, and watched with pleasure as his Captain’s expression softened in turn. The air felt strangely charged, as if the dormant bond was somehow a living thing, drawing them towards an end that was somehow inevitable and yet entirely unknown. 

The squeal of the intercom made them both flinch in surprise. The voice of the Lieutenant currently stationed at communications cut the silence. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.” 

Kirk sat forward quickly, all relaxed gentleness fallen away, thumbed the comm switch, and snapped, “Kirk here.” 

“Sir, I’ve got Admiral Dawson for you.” 

Kirk nodded, as if the name wasn’t wholly unexpected. “Route it down here, Lieutenant.” He broke the comm link then looked to Spock with a grimace. “A friend of Matt’s.” He gestured apologetically to the screen. “I should -” 

Sensitive to the implied dismissal, Spock stood. “I will leave you to your call, Captain.” 

“Thanks, Spock.” 

“Goodnight. Jim.” 

Kirk’s eyes were already on the screen as it lit up and he murmured, “G’night Spock.” 

* 

_ USS Enterprise, __Stardate__: __5544.81 __(T__erran __calendar: 2__nd __June 2267) _

James Kirk entered the transporter room, currently occupied by Spock, Scotty, and a cacophony of the purring, cooing noise, that, in spite of its soothing properties, he’d be very happy not to hear again for the duration of this voyage. Or ideally, the rest of his life. The fluffy, innocuous looking pile of tribbles on the transporter padd seemed to grow threateningly larger as he watched. He turned quickly to Scotty, behind the transporter console. “Is that all of them?” 

Scotty nodded. “Aye. Security are finishing up their final sweep of the ship now sir, but they’re pretty sure they’ve got the lot.” 

“Good. Prepare to beam them down, Mister Scott.” 

He glanced across to his first officer, about to make a further comment, but the words died on his lips. Spock was also observing the pile of tribbles, but unlike the other two men in the room, was holding one as well. His long, skilled fingers stroked gently, repetitively across the back of the small creature in his hand, smoothing its fur and causing a rapturous, contented purr. Spock himself seemed almost unaware of the motion of his hand as he observed the other tribbles with what was – very nearly – a small smile on his face. 

Kirk looked from Spock to Scotty, who had followed his gaze. Scotty said, making an unsuccessful attempt to hide his smile, “About ten minutes, sir.” 

Kirk looked back to Spock, and cleared his throat. There was no response. 

Kirk said, “Spock.” The Vulcan continued to stroke and stare contentedly. There was an amused huff from behind the transporter console. 

Kirk took a few quiet steps forward, until he was level with, and slightly behind his first officer. He raised his head until his lips were within inches of Spock’s ear, and then said, in a tone slightly louder than his normal speaking voice, “_Spock_.” 

The Vulcan actually jumped. Kirk smothered his smile and Scotty cut off a laugh by diverting it quickly into a throat clearing cough. Spock looked at Kirk as if he’d contrived to materialise at his side without any warning at all, and said in obvious surprise, “Captain.” 

Kirk said, straight faced, “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you both, but I was wondering if you could see your way clear to returning your friend there,” he nodded to the tribble, nestled comfortably in Spock’s hands, “to his friends over there,” he indicated the transporter platform, “so we can _finally _get them off the ship?” 

Following Kirk’s gaze, Spock looked down at the tribble in his hands, and frowned, as if he couldn’t quite remember how it got there. Looking up again into Kirk’s amused gaze, he said, hastily, “Of course, Captain.” He stepped forward and placed the small creature very gently onto the padd with its fellows. “I was merely - assessing the soothing properties of the creature. For later analysis.” 

Heroically, Kirk managed to keep his expression neutral. “Of course, you were, Mister Spock. Ever the diligent science officer. I would expect no less.” 

* 

Leonard McCoy patted Yeoman Carter on the shoulder, then stepped back. “How’s that?” 

She moved her wrist, first gingerly, then with increasing confidence, a grin spreading over her face. “That’s - brilliant. Doesn't hurt at all.” She turned the grin on McCoy. “Thanks, Doc.” 

McCoy smiled back. “No problem, Yeoman. But next time, no leading the charge on the landing party, ‘kay?” 

She jumped down from the biobed, and flashed him a cheeky smile. “As if. I’m always so careful. Shy and retiring, that’s me.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he called in amusement after her retreating back. He shook his head, and flicked the dermal regenerator off, laying it down next to the biobed. 

A voice behind him said warmly, “It’s - Doctor McCoy, isn’t it? _Leonard _McCoy?” 

He turned. 

There was a woman standing near to the door to his office. She was tall, slim, with striking bone structure, and brunette hair piled attractively on her head. She was wearing an Ensign’s uniform in science blues. McCoy was quite certain he’d never seen her before in his life. 

He said, “It is, but you have me at a disadvantage, Ensign -?” 

She sashayed over to him, and she didn’t lose any of her attractiveness for being closer. If anything, being able to see the twinkle in her eyes made him feel positively disoriented. Actually, there _was _something familiar - 

She said, smiling, “I’m Jadzia. Jadzia D –” she cleared her throat. “Dixon. Jadzia Dixon. I’ve been on temporary assignment, and I’m going back today, but I wanted to say hello.” She held out her hand. She added, “And goodbye.” 

McCoy took her hand in both of his, and said gallantly, “Jadzia, it's a pleasure to meet you. I’m only sorry you’re leaving, so there'll be no chance to extend our acquaintance.” 

She smiled at him so fondly – and in such an oddly_ familiar _way - that he racked his brain again. But surely he’d never have forgotten her? She said with a little sigh, “How foolish of me not to get injured on this trip.” He almost laughed, pleased, and released her hand, fully expecting her to pull away, but instead she simply raised her other hand, so she was now holding one of his in both of hers. She said, “We have a mutual friend. And she was very anxious that I should see you before I left.” She had turned his hand over, palm up, and was looking at it, a smile playing around her lips. 

“And give you,” she looked up at him again, “her _very _best regards. She hopes you’re well, and thinks of you - fondly.” 

He said, curiously, “Your friend’s name, Ma’am?” 

She was watching him closely. “Dax. Ebony Dax.” 

McCoy could feel a blush begin to heat his cheeks. “_Ebony_?” 

She nodded, a knowing smile on her face. 

_ Ebony __Dax_. Ebony Dax: trill, gymnast, and all-round incredible woman, had been one of the single greatest fortnights of a younger Leonard McCoy’s life. He rallied and said, “Please tell her, Ma’am, that I am well. And that I think of her fondly too. Very fondly. She’s an – extraordinary woman.” 

Jadzia said, a little thickly, “She is that.” 

McCoy looked at her closely, and her eyes had misted slightly. He said, suddenly a little alarmed, “She is well, isn’t she? Ebony?” 

Jadzia said hastily, “Yes.” She swallowed, and smiled. “Yes, she is. Oh, and she also wanted me to say – I told you so.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You said you’d never want to be a ship’s surgeon. Never go into space. And yet,” she indicated the ship around them. “Finest CMO in the fleet, on the most famous _ ship _in the fleet. So, Leonard: I told you so.” 

He did laugh then, and she laughed with him. He said, “She said I’d be missing out if I didn’t go. Said it’d suit me.” He shrugged, self-deprecatingly, “Turns out, she was right.” 

“Of course she was.” Jadzia was smiling again. 

McCoy said, suddenly, “Look, I’m off shift in half an hour. We could -” 

But she was shaking her head. “I have to go. Now. I shouldn't have come here at all. It was – indulgent of me. But I thought, if_ Benjamin _can do it -” she broke off. “I’m sorry, I’m being -” she stopped again, before adding, a little sadly, “No. You can’t go back.” 

She took a step away, and McCoy had the oddest impression that something important was slipping from him. He said, reaching for her hand again, “Jadzia -” 

She stepped out of reach and said, “Goodbye, Leonard. Take care of yourself. And this incredible crew.” 

He said, feeling suddenly that it was a promise, carrying more weight than the circumstances warranted, “I will.” 

She gave a short, fond laugh. “I know. I_ know _you will. You'll be – you _are _\- brilliant.” 

McCoy began, “Well, that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t - ” it was as far as he got. 

She murmured, “Oh, to hell with it.” And before he could react, she’d stepped forward, taken his face in her hands, and kissed him, long, and sweet, and fragrant, and utterly, heartbreakingly lovely, then she stepped back, gave him another glimpse of that incredible smile, turned on her heel, and left. 

Leonard McCoy stood and stared at the closed door in disbelief. He was only roused when the voice of Christine Chapel said dryly from behind him, “Old friend?” 

McCoy tore his gaze away from the door, and to his chief nurse. After a moment, he said, “I’m - not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever met her before.” 

Christine Chapel raised her eyebrows. “Well then, _that _was a hell of a first impression.” 

* 

Kirk was standing next to Jeffries tube seven, waiting for Spock to satisfy himself that the small family of tribbles that had set up home there hadn’t done any damage to the plasma conduits powering the equipment in his lab, when a voice near him said, “Excuse me, Captain.” 

He turned. Standing behind him, holding out a padd, was a man in command red, wearing Lieutenant’s stripes, whose face he couldn’t immediately identify. The man continued, “Here’s tomorrow’s duty roster for your approval.” His face held a hopeful, friendly smile, that almost suggested they were friends, or at least acquaintances, but Kirk didn’t recognise him. 

Mentally, Kirk frowned to himself. _I thought I knew everyone on the command track. Even the new intake. _ He took the padd and said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, er, Lieutenant -?” 

The man said, still wearing that earnest smile, “Benjamin Sisko, sir. I’ve been on temporary assignment here. Before I leave, I just want to say – it's been an honour serving with you, sir.” 

Sisko was so utterly, painfully sincere, that Kirk couldn’t help smiling. He said warmly, “Alright, Lieutenant. Carry on.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Sisko turned to leave. 

Next to Kirk, his first officer’s lithe form dropped lightly from the Jeffries tube, but Kirk didn’t immediately turn to him. Something was striking him as a bit - off. He prided himself on being a good judge of character. On his ability to size people up quickly, and estimate their capabilities accurately. It was a skill that the best leaders needed, and he’d been honing it for years. So despite Sisko’s apparent and almost boyish enthusiasm about speaking to the Captain, there was no disguising a natural air of gravitas and charisma that bespoke a rank somewhat higher than the one he currently bore. He’d met Admirals with less of a natural air of authority. 

As the man started to walk away, he said, purely to satisfy his own curiosity, “Sisko.” The Lieutenant turned. Kirk said, “Your new assignment – promotion?” 

Sisko hesitated for the barest second, then straightened. "Yes, sir.” 

“What ship?” 

“Not a ship, sir, a station. Right on the edge of Federation space. Peacekeeping assignment, I guess you’d call it.” 

Kirk said, interested, “Tough job. What’s your plan for when you can’t keep the peace?” 

“Make damn sure we win the war.” Sisko’s eyes were alight. “Sir.” 

“Sounds like a challenge.” 

“I like a challenge.” 

Kirk smiled then, genuinely. “Don’t we all.” He nodded a dismissal. “Good luck out there, Mister Sisko.” 

The man’s smile almost split his face. “Thank you, Captain Kirk. I’d wish you good luck, but somehow,” he looked to Spock, then around him at the ship, and back to Kirk, “I don’t think you’ll need it.” 

He grinned, then nodded to them both, before turning and rounding the bend in the corridor, passing out of their sight. 

Kirk frowned after him, and addressed Spock. “Benjamin Sisko. Do you know him?” 

“I do not.” 

After a moment, Kirk said thoughtfully, “Well, remember the name, Mister Spock. I think he’ll do well for himself.” 

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, those last two scenes are just me having fun. I love DS9 and I regret nothing. :)


End file.
